


Alternate Ending to "Care of the Angel"

by ElenoftheWays



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Sex, Castiel (Supernatural) Deals With Having Human Emotions, Castiel and Dean Winchester Fight, Castiel's Nickname is Cass (Supernatural), Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Time, Crying Castiel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Watches the Kardashians in order to fall asleep, Demisexual Castiel (Supernatural), Dubious Consent, F/M, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Introspection, M/M, Miscommunication, Other, POV Castiel (Supernatural), Post-Episode: s09e06 Heaven Can't Wait, Spiritual, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 13:02:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20436470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElenoftheWays/pseuds/ElenoftheWays
Summary: “And I’m not just healing from being stripped of my grace. I’m healing from what this friendship has turned into,” a different kind of heat was rising in pupils, his eyelids wincing around it. An inhale between opened lips actually staggered, some of that fire however microscopic pouring right out, “I’m healing from everything you have ever put in my head; I’m healing from everything I have ever felt around and because of you.” His finger finally shot out into the open air, eyelids expanding off of this newer and angrier temperature of eyeballs, “I’m done with this, Dean. If any other case comes up around here, I will call you and Sam. Of course, I have your number of all numbers memorized,” his head shook and temples were still much steadier despite all of that strangely organized fire. Pupils had nothing to roll towards but only in the vicinity of Dean’s face, not even wanting to look at him anymore, “but this is me making boundaries.”





	Alternate Ending to "Care of the Angel"

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Care of the Angel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11827635) by [ElenoftheWays](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElenoftheWays/pseuds/ElenoftheWays). 

What is a day in the life of Steve? He thought the question over, still chewing this mixture of bread, cheese, and meat. There were things he could say, something close to what Elen called a “convenient lie” just so the blameless question could be answered and out of the way. But he was still sitting right here and the longer he sat on that vinyl pizzeria bench, that question would just echo and echo right into the nerves even louder than before. That much hotter anger was sinking in all over again. Dean chose what he did because of Sam, Dean would always choose family first! An exhale came out loud and unashamed in its sighing. It was strange how such a simple and matter-of-fact question could conjure up this much emotion, he almost wanted to hate himself. 

"Steve works as many shifts at the Gas n Sip that he can, although now a high school student was just hired part time so Steve has some time off. The change does not feel right to him. He eats at diners" and a hand lifted the pizza to his mouth, fully looking down to the mission entering the lips. It was hard to not miss one side of Dean’s mouth quirking. Army green-colored shoulders hunched towards his plate, both arms on either side of it and there was that smile again. He hadn’t seen it since before Metatron took his grace, the faintest hope lingering in the back of those eyes however cynical Dean’s grin. Tears were tempted to spring right up into both eyes but looked down towards his plate instead. The pizza was even brighter against all of this lighting and the stark whiteness underneath it. Something hot still ran through nerves somewhere between that combination of Ephraim’s words and all of this mood since leaving Nora’s house _ and _ made even worse by that tiniest smile. The mouth was somehow still chewing. 

"Steve goes to the park just to sit and watch people when he can, sometimes he will go to a diner just to drink coffee and people-watch, he r-reads" and his voice was shaking. Those last two words just had to come right out. If Dean asked what kinds of books, there was no imagining the look on his face considering the two incredibly sage volumes Elen already offered him in the past week. 

Shoulder blades were already squirming up against the bright red bench before he even realized it, the vinyl squealing from all angles. Another exhale breathed far too much like a sigh, sending both of his pupils just over Dean’s head. There was something beautifully familiar about the tiles surrounding the one square fluorescent light in its alternating pattern. 

“Steve” never felt so real than right now and “Steve” really did enjoy reading. Fingertips gently pressed the anterior of pizza crust before folding it in half. An unreadable huff breathed from the opposite side of the table as another bite entered his mouth. His mouth. The ex-angel “Kah-stee-ell" as she pronounced it. Little shock waves were coursing somewhere underneath skin, something strangely affirming somewhere inside of this. 

"And despite attempting to be inconspicuous among humans, Steve has made a friend—" 

"Yeah he did!” Dean’s hand that wasn’t glazed with pizza grease was slapping his forearm right across the booth table. That old action used to conjure up something like hope and perhaps even trust in the now-crackling spaces underneath skin. But Dean _ did _ shatter that trust, all of that tempting enthusiasm wanting to bubble right out but not as brightly as it used to. It was weird to not immediately jump into that emotion. Dean made his choice and those eyebrows were shooting up his forehead like they do whenever implying sex, that one side of his mouth quirking right up. “You go, tiger. Nora _ is _ hot.” 

If he so much as corrected Dean, everything would have escalated into something else. 

Dean Winchester would never completely know about Elen, he would have a field day making fun of their conversations and especially when talking about the man himself. A pizza-scented exhale deeply hummed through the back of the throat looking over Dean’s shoulder onto the vast graveyard of empty red and blue striped tables and chairs. Somehow sadness and assertiveness hovered over his, the, Jimmy’s, his body all at the same time, this achingly human paradox never feeling more oddly cheerful and cleansed in all of these muscles and veins. 

Leave it to a rit zien, and one who once looked up to him, to be the first angel he would encounter in human form and so susceptible to dying. Ephraim should have killed him, he wouldn’t have blamed the war medic angel, but those words were far more a death. They still existed underneath skin, all of that paradox thicker and tempting to rise right out of flesh but hopefully not into his mouth. Dean already knew the feeling always being threatened by his brothers and sisters, he didn’t need reminding. Nerves jumped for the millionth time since everything happened, something still shattering in the chest just at the memory of Ephraim’s disappointed face. How did assertiveness even attempt to exist alongside all of this? But the more Ephraim’s eyes and words stewed in those deep places, the more that shattering almost began to almost physically hurt inside of his chest. Something had to be done. 

But he still was not completely ready. Not just yet. This second book Elen let him borrow was titled Journal of a Solitude by May Sarton and was already worthy of a note card quote. 

"There is no doubt that solitude is a challenge and to maintain balance within it a precarious business. But I must not forget that, for me, being with people or even one beloved person for any length of time without solitude is even worse. I lose my center, I feel dispersed, scattered, in pieces. I must have time alone in which to mull over my encounter, and to extract its juice, its essence, to understand what has really happened to me as a consequence of it” and all of those endless pools between hazel-green irises were already looking directly back into his grinning something like a taunt all on their own. Her lips began a different shade of a smile, gradually lifting until his own just couldn’t help itself from his side of the couch. That quote seemed to speak for itself and that was the end of that topic, Elen’s smaller hand passing the paperback across that cushion still messy with mini candy bar wrappers. 

He wanted to read this. He wanted to find a fascination in being alone but not lonely. He even wanted to spend more time with Elen over coffee or food talking about everything. Perhaps she could even introduce him to more films. But Ephraim’s vessel’s disappointed eyes were still right there and something sharp ran through the base of every single muscle underneath this body. It did still feel like selfishness however blameless. 

The last quarter of his slice of pepperoni pizza slid back into his mouth. 

“So” Dean’s voice sounded clearer and even a little higher as he hunched against his elbows planted on either side of an almost empty plate, shoulders rising a little further up on either side of that neck. “What?” they practically twitched up towards each ear lobe, both of Dean’s eyelids practically wincing over his own deep pools of pupils, “You’re really _ not _ gonna to ask her out? Dude, you’re hopeless.” 

"There's no point in that, Dean. We both assumed too quickly what Nora wanted out of me tonight, if I had time to ask for a female perspective—" 

Lips pressed hard against one another. 

At least he stopped himself. 

Thankfully there wasn’t even any questions considering “a female perspective,” watching Dean’s smile grow progressively even more pleased with itself as he grabbed his soft drink. It had to be better this way. Those whitish-gray ceiling panels really were in a perfect square-like ring around a single lighted unit. It really was like the Garden Café's black and beige tiled table last week, all of those calming and layered textures within textures. Ephraim’s vessel’s eyes appeared somewhere in that matrix, so angry and sad all at the same time. That spot in the chest was beginning to hurt all over again, that cleansing assertiveness hovering in its own layer just above that pain. But this was just how it was going to be. The thought didn’t last, but the paradoxical pain still existed. Loud slurping straw noises and ice clicks were even louder from the opposite side of the booth. 

“Yeah, buddy, you’re hopeless but at least the chicks think you’re pretty.” 

Dean really was trying too hard, another clearly forced chuckle suffocating his last few words. It really was _ not _ helping. Did Dean really think him the same personality he had as an angel? _ Did _ he still have the same personality he was as an angel? Dean couldn’t have blamed him for not wanting to talk too much as the shitty chain of events that was this awful night was painfully slowly coming to a close. Nothing could have been more ideal than somehow sneaking into the Gas n Sip’s back room before the security cameras came on for the night, blowing up his air mattress, and reading at least a chapter or two. That newly thick book-induced repose would make all of today feel like it never even happened by tomorrow morning. 

Dean was clapping a forearm all over again, eyes darting down towards a white wrist cuff. He fell back against the red vinyl seat still chuckling, but it was slowly denigrating into a much simpler and grin. It was the grin he could still almost sense a tingling from, a soulful tingling that practically radiated right out of the Righteous Man the moment his grace formed into a hand to touch that shoulder. This was Dean smiling completely without pretension or cynicism and he still was not immune to it. There were little gold glints entering those green eyes which must have realized the silence was going on for too long. They were already narrowing, a hand reaching up into his short brown hair looking faintly blond under the fluorescent tile. 

But that smile did happen and enthusiasm hovered right over every organ and system just from the simple of humility of a smile. After all, Dean Winchester was there for him earlier at Nora’s house. For him. But for every “for him” there was a choked syllable from “you just can’t stay here.” An exhale hollowed through the back of his throat without much of a sigh. It was never really that simple when it came to the Winchester brothers. Pupils wanted to look over that scratched scalp and right into the meditative insides of ceiling tiles. 

“Well,” Dean shifted and the surrounding vinyl around him belched on the opposite booth bench. Both of those eyebrows lightly winced, his mouth opening too wide and shoving all of his fifth stuffed crust right into his mouth all at the same time. That square chin bobbed slightly towards the empty plate looking close to ecstasy over his own food. It really was too much like him. Enthusiasm really was tempted all over again, but this time he just couldn’t. He just couldn’t. Dean Winchester really did mess up his trust. A deep inhale was echoing between bites and Dean actually looked uncomfortable, the bench making that squeaky sound all over again. A coat-dressed forearm was laying back down on the one side of his plate. "How about we box up these leftovers and go watch a movie? I should probably get a motel room somewhere around here—" 

Earlier he wanted nothing more than to prolong Dean’s visit, gripping the opportunity perhaps a little too hard despite all of the feelings that smile and those eyes were conjuring against the heavy exhaustion of being kicked around by a rit zien. He never felt more like one of those tiles overhead or even that outdoor café table, layers upon complicated layers and textures on top of different textures. There was wanting a little more and yet not all at the same time but as Dean Winchester and himself as they once were. This really was the price of tipping a Winchester off on a possible case, but this last part of this awful night could not have been more difficult to get out of. He really could have been safe on his air mattress sleeping or reading! 

But Elen was still up. 

It couldn’t have been very fair to just randomly show up on her back porch never needing to vent or just simply existing in that quiet empathetic air all at the same time. But there was five dollars currently in his wallet that could buy an offering in the form of some kind of tub of ice cream, Elen mentioning she was part iced coffee and part ice cream once. 

"I really just want to go to sleep right now, Dean." 

There went the ice cream idea, but sleep also sounded just as good. 

Golden-green irises squinted so hard the color almost completely disappeared, nothing else remaining but that forever piercing worry. 

“Are you sure?” 

"Yes, Dean. Between dealing with a newborn and getting my ass kicked by a rit zien, I _ am _ exhausted." 

"Fair enough, buddy. So," Dean barely looked rejected as he breathed hard against that final word. He actually lit up as both ends of a smile shot right up, thin eyelashes finally flickering a little wider. “Where’s home?” 

He really wasn’t getting to Elen’s apartment tonight. 

A dark army-green sleeved arm shot up towards a waiter, Dean’s faint stubble flicking up as if in a silent language for a to-go box. Dean really wasn’t going to like this answer, but did he need to like it? 

“I-I have an air mattress” and both of his eyes were helplessly closing, “in the Gas n Sip’s back room.” Breath couldn’t stop itself from sighing any louder, exhaling in the direction of his own empty plate. Dean didn’t have the right to know. _ Did _ Dean have the right to know any of this? “No one knows I live there” practically whispered this time, that usually scratchy tone sounding even smoother at the lower volume. 

The last slice thumped right down into the large box fit for the size of pizza Dean ordered. 

“Nope, not acceptable!” 

Eyes opened back onto Dean's and they could barely be looked into. Heavier eyelids were already narrowing around green eyes without much of that gold in them. Dean’s mouth slightly opened not entirely pouting but entirely furious. The pizza box hissed shut a little too loudly, the sound just as confusing as a gently huffing cocked grin. 

“OK,” his chin nodded deeply, elbows on either side of the cardboard and gesturing fingers flew sideways towards the other side of this booth. Dean looked exactly as he did when methodically planning a hunt before everything went to shit, “here’s the plan. I'm going to get you a motel room until the end of the week. You should have a place by then, right?" 

"Dean..." 

"I can't you're still homeless! Shouldn't another good-looking non-reaper chick be taking you in?" 

“Dean!” His blood ran a little faster saying that name in the softest command possible. The pizza box was already in Dean’s hand as it sat back down on the table, the softer thump almost an even louder assault against eardrums. He even felt even more like “Castiel” with that tone, but this really was a kind of rebirth. How would Steve approach anger knowing all that he knew before? Eyebrows practically fell to the tops of both of his eyelids. There was no telling how to be firm yet compassionate all at the same time towards a once deserving someone. 

Dean actually looked stunned, thin eyebrows shooting right up onto that broad forehead. 

An elbow finally sat on the table, both of those certain fingers naturally reaching for that place on the bridge of his nose. Breath fell out far more a sigh than just a laborious exhale. 

"Considering how well you communicated your reasons for not letting me stay in the bunker,” came out much too slowly as fingers remained right there, hoping it would somehow enter Dean’s stubborn skull, “it’s not your place to interfere how Steve or I live. We have done fairly well here in Rexford.” Palm lines were still somewhat lit in the darkness under his one hand, fingers continuing to hold the face at least right there. It was unfair to talk to the backs of his fingers than directly to Dean. If anything else could make him feel anymore a coward, but that hand _ was _ holding back every Dean Winchester-related conversation he ever had with Elen . “It may not be legal to live on that air mattress and all the measures I take when I _ don’t _ have a night shift, but right now I cannot bring myself to think ahead. Sometimes—" the echo of fingers dropping down against the beige speckled table made its way into eardrums, both of his pupils following the noise. Temples almost rocked from the slightest thud. "I-I can't even get off the air mattress most mornings." 

“But w-what we can do,” but that familiar enthusiasm was coming out of this throat from a distance and yet he could not have felt more like the old “Castiel” for a quick second. That opportunistic grip clutched at the oldest Winchester brother not entirely ready to detach just yet. But a simple “where to?” was something close to a compromise to at least spend a few more hours of the night with Dean. If he was lucky, he could somehow sneak past the security cameras into the back room for a quick power nap before opening tomorrow morning. Dean’s eyebrows were almost touching his pupils, that too familiar square jaw angrily clenched but not angry enough to snap, "we can just drive around like what the Impala was meant to do." 

He was really going to regret this. 

* 

“Now you can squeeze my lemon 'til the juice run down my/'Til the juice run down my leg, baby, you know what I'm talkin' about.” 

Dean’s thumb then pinky finger rocked back and forth on the Impala’s steering wheel keeping the rhythm of his favorite “Traveling Riverside Blues.” He still looked so comfortable in that driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel and fully relaxing back into the chair. Dean looked so content, it was enough to want to apologize for absolutely nothing and yet everything all at the same time. But the Led Zeppelin song had randomly came on the radio, Dean’s other hand which usually rested on his jeans-clad thigh shooting right out to crank the volume loud. Something twitched somewhere in the muscles completely amazed. He really did prefer the quiet sounds of a café courtyard with all of its Avian creatures over songs like this. Affirmation never felt more wonderful, a self-generated enthusiasm just for himself. There was a tiny temptation to text Elen but fingers dared to reach towards the wide knob instead. 

“Dean, it’s 10:00 in the middle of the week in a small town” came out in that commanding softness like at the pizza place. 

He was getting better at this. 

“Fair enough.” 

At least fingers still finished loudly tapping out the last of the rhythm but quietly singing along, looking around at all angles out the Impala’s windows onto his own familiar Rexford. Now there was no imagining what a calmer-looking Dean was thinking about behind the wheel of the Impala he loved. 

The temptation to text Elen kept growing stronger the longer he sat in here, even his phone felt heavier in the one jeans pocket. There were so many ways to message her in so many different tones, but since sliding onto Sam’s honored spot that was the passenger seat, he knew he just couldn’t send any of them. Somehow the Impala felt even more suffocating than he remembered. It also didn’t help that Dean’s face kept coming in and out of view just off the cusp of a pupil, the faintly created wind almost prickling goosebumps down the left side of the, his, body. Dean wouldn’t stop randomly looking at him, one pair of eyelids wincing and the single pupil could not have looked more worried even in the darkness of his “Baby.” It was a little fair and even strategic if not a little paranoiac to not text Elen until opening the passenger door wherever this night was taking him. He could only imagine Dean would attempt to look towards it somehow, composing all of the messages in his mind instead. 

‘You’re not going to believe who I’m with right now.’ 

‘I’m with Dean right now and I feel like I’m being watched a little too carefully.’ 

‘If I weren’t here, believe me, I’d be bringing a tub of ice cream to your place right now.’ 

The ends of lips quirked at that one the most. 

‘My night really, really sucks.’ 

The last one sounded a little too much like Dean and everything just felt heavy just over the top of his, the body all over again. If Dean wasn’t here right now, he would have purchased that ice cream and sitting on that smaller couch venting about everything that happened tonight. But then everything happened tonight _ because _ Dean was in Rexford, because he asked him to take the case. Either way, Ephraim would have found him under any other circumstance, but at least a little baby wouldn’t have had a fever! The rhythm of Tanya’s scream still faintly rattled the backs of eardrums. If Dean didn’t come to Rexford, he would have gladly not given a second thought of any ulterior motives behind Nora’s more baby-sitting intentions. He only hoped his job wasn’t jeopardized by letting Dean into his head. 

This must have been what it felt like to be the supporting character during a hunting case, ardently believing and helping the Winchesters yet staying behind and cleaning up all of their messes. But that’s what Dean did best, blowing in and out of a town without dealing with the consequences of any of his actions as long as he got as quickly back out onto “an” open road “with” his “Baby” and Sam. The back of his neck dropped back against Sam’s usual spot on the neck rest, both eyes slowly closing. 

His night really, really did suck and somehow, he deserved it. He _ was _ the one to bring the case to the Winchesters! All of Elen’s empathetic help became almost as much of a mangled mess just from a single shitty chain of events in a single night as what Dean was going to leave him with in the morning. 

"Now what are you doing? Burying your head in the sand. Right when your kind needs you the most." 

Ephraim’s eyelids widening but the towering over him pupils between them so disappointed. 

Dying by a medical hand would either be a mercy or too good of an angelic torture. 

Light temples violently waved, but the thoughts between them screamed “Tanya, Tanya” over and over. 

"You say you want to live. But you can't see what I see. By choosing a human life, you've already given up. You … chose … death." 

“Within failure there is acceptance in some form.” 

"I used to admire you. You failed more often than you succeeded. But at least you played big." 

“We are all allowed [...] even if it looks cowardly or selfish to other people.” 

“Cass” and his neck shot off the back of the passenger seat. He wasn’t being called Steve, something leaping and sparking as the spine sat up a little straighter. His fingers reached for the bridge of the nose; the tops of his cheeks were wet. A little panic was beginning to helplessly set in just at the moisture on his face. There was no memory of this happening until right now! There was even less knowing if Dean had noticed any of it or not. An already hinged index finger and thumb quickly wiped either side of the nose before returning to his bridge, the less emotionally aware Winchester would never even know. He didn’t deserve it anyway and not just because of the time spent across that bunker table. 

“Look, buddy, even the man behind this gorgeous lady,” Dean passed a streetlight and a little less swallowed up in the night at least for a moment. One side of his mouth quirked into a grin before disappearing into the dark, the shadow of his arm reaching up towards the dashboard to rub at his “Baby,” “needs his beauty rest. Let’s just get a motel room.” 

“Can you promise to not hold it for the rest of the week like what you mentioned at the pizza place?” but his voice slightly broke in the middle of that soft commanding tone. The words “Dean” and “promises” either went a little too well and/or a little too disastrous all at the same time. 

“Shit, for a regular guy now, you sure are bossy” Dean’s smile was completely discernible in the dark, but the created wind out of what had to be a grin laughed towards the passenger seat. Another streetlight was passed and pupils turned towards a wide smile that didn’t entirely work too hard but wasn’t completely humble. But it was hard to miss the worry in or around those eyes, Dean not looking as suffocating as he had been. He just didn’t care as pupils turned back towards the windshield and ahead to his own familiar Rexford. His spine was about to fall back a little more lazily onto the passenger seat but something hard and square was slapping the middle of the chest. There was nothing else to do but to look down towards a little too well-dressed shirt meant for a misinterpreted date. But the square something he was meant to have grabbed fell into his lap, realizing that it was Dean’s phone. “Beam me up a cheap motel?” 

*

The motel on the main street was up to the Winchester standard. Inexpensive with employees that didn’t ask questions. He stayed in the Impala as Dean checked into his room, not really wanting to move anywhere else. Eyes even closed remembering all of the times he spent in the Impala Dean loved so much. There were all of the fortunate or unfortunate smells that men in their late 20s and early 30s could accumulate in such a small place, never really appreciating or having the courtesy to fully dislike any of their more mobile habits. It was that nostalgia in rediscovering all over again, but without any of that suffocating pain that goes along with it. A heavier exhale breathed out and caught something that smelled like dirty socks. Dean would when Sam wasn’t driving with him. 

He only hoped the younger Winchester was doing well, a little buzzing headache alleviating from one brother to the next. Dean told him Sam was currently back at the bunker with Kevin trying to translate the tablets, but Dean looked a little something every time he mentioned his name. Eyelids winced so tightly together they were practically closing like they had across that bunker table barely able to provide a legitimate reason why he couldn’t just stay there. 

The middle of a white shirt was still vibrating right where Dean pressed his phone towards, the color looking a pale gray between the parking lot lights and whatever time it was at the moment. It almost hurt a little as well. Regretting tonight was becoming a broad understatement. If things did end up differently, if Dean showed a little compassion at the bunker, there was still no way to help Sam and Kevin. The only two languages he knew was Jimmy’s natural states-side throat and Enochian, the latter feeling almost like a distant memory. 

His old favorite word came out like an exhale, the back of his head dropping back against the neck rest. Leather tickled the nape just below a hair line. 

It meant hyacinth or “of hyacinth,” something so earthy against all of the loud garish and mighty all-or-nothing terminology. It rolled out slowly once then twice, relishing each letter change, syllable from syllable although a little weird coming out of a human mouth. It felt like home, at least the home inside of a grace living somewhere that didn’t feel like a home as much as when he was first created. The final “na-hath” almost happily sighed right out, eyes closing all over again. Behind closed eyelids, everything still felt heavy just over the top of skin. 

Something was knocking at the window. 

Everything shot off the head rest all over again. 

But of course it was Dean as he pointed towards the back seat, shaking fingers reaching for the door handle. Where he opened the Impala’s passenger door, the older Winchester brother was already in the backseat. There was an even lesser tremor in the muscles of both legs once standing against parking lot concrete as the firm slam of a car door reverberated in eardrums. 

“Dude, you’re too jumpy,” Feet managed to turn towards the Impala, Dean shouting from depths of the backseat. There wasn’t much to see other than long denim legs stretching into the Impala just to grab his over-night bag on the driver’s seat side. “Ouch” grumbled out into the dead quiet of the parking lot. A few crickets were even starting up somewhere, “for a guy who doesn’t talk too much” groaned loud before Dean moved out of the back seat and finally standing up straight. One hand grabbed at his green jacket covering his lower back and bending backwards. A loud crack sounded right off of him, another groan breathing off the back of his throat, “You need to make more friends and not just that cute little baby from earlier.” 

“I sang her The Greatest American theme song” came out sounding so flat. 

The Winchester slammed shut the back-passenger side door and it echoed just as loudly through the entire parking lot. Hot nerves pinched at the obscenely loud noise, eardrums still ringing from the Impala door he himself closed. 

He had to have been suffering from some post trauma of some kind and eyes closed right there feeling every second of it. It really would be too easy to hate himself right now, fingers itching the sensation to grip at the bridge of his nose. But something was moving directly in front of closed eyes and Dean still smelled the way he always did. He would always be somewhere between sweat and cheap hotel soap and of course that mortal salt, but there was never enough time to breathe in the specifics if identifying uniqueness to a human shell was so important. A chin didn’t even realize it dropped as it lifted all over again, eyelids opening onto a better lit Dean than while in the Impala. Dean was towering over him from his own preference for personal space, a smile was already growing a little too big for the Winchester’s face. A delayed cringe wormed through muscles. That really did have to come right out. 

“Ha! That’s my boy,” that familiar palm and the undersides of all of its fingers clapped the back of his neck. Nerves jumped more at the touch than the surprise, enthusiasm effortlessly bubbling just underneath skin. It was beginning to rise the longer it laid right there. But his own legs were thoughtlessly following alongside Dean’s longer although sleepier looking strides, that familiar palm at the back of the neck like he was being guided. There really was nowhere else to be as the outside Gas n Sip security cameras were officially activated for the night, even going in with his keys would alert an intruder, and fingers were climbing the back of his head. They mussed at hair then pushing at his shoulder, almost feeling like that Winchester he supposedly was. He tripped sideways before gaining back his own footing. “I have taught you well, young Padawan.” 

The double bed motel room still smelled musty even underneath whatever the heavily fake lemon cleaning product was. But that too was also on the list of the Winchester standard. The middle of his chest previously punctuated with Dean’s cellular phone shook at something in the heavy scented cleanliness. It was always motel rooms like these, being cramped in the Impala then room, then room to Impala all over again. Dean barreled through the door, tossing the keys on a low dresser so nonchalant about all of this. He felt almost frozen right in the doorway discovering the ends of the two double beds. A much smoother and warm feeling penetrated that ache in the chest this time, softly tingling in merely memory. He still didn’t know why he felt that way when standing over beds like these, looking into Dean’s dreams. For a quick second, he almost missed the hem of that trench coat blowing against shins. 

Dean’s over-night bag dropped on the foot of the mattress closest to the bathroom, and the door didn’t slam as loud as it usually would. A few bed springs still squeaked after the initial impact. There really was no telling if his consistent silence was wearing on the Winchester brother, it always used to. Was angel silence different from a human type? But legs still stood in the middle of the doorway. He could have made for an escape at this exact second, but there was nowhere else to go. 

“Don’t worry, Steve, Juliet will close and the both of us _ will _ rest easy tonight, hopefully,” Nora teased considering her new part time employee. His boss really didn’t know _ where _ he would rest easy, but it would probably wise for it to be here than being arrested for being homeless and breaking into a gas station where he technically worked! It would completely out everything about him and he just couldn’t lose this job! There really was nowhere else to go but to stay with Dean at least for tonight. Relief finally hummed through a denim pocket, fingers finally pulling out that phone. 

Legs finally moved from the partition and walked right out into the cooler Idaho night. It was a little brisker than while in front of Nora’s house, human goosebumps prickling up around the barer spots of an upper chest. Toes stood just an inch away from the end of the elevated concrete path not too far away from one of the columns holding up the roof above him. He really did walk outside to just text Elen while Dean was in the bathroom. But that man was not leaving the shower any time soon, Dean clearly looking near dead in his exhaustion. Sam did explain once how his older brother operated, how he would walk slower after a case and would usually spend at least ten minutes in a long steaming hot shower. He could understand that level of debilitation now, although not necessarily needing a shower or sleep as much as he needed a book or television to occupy his mind. 

You're not going to believe the night... 

But fingers folded the flip phone together without finishing the text, at least the jeans pocket felt much more relieved as it slid back in. 

An actual sigh shook right out. His hand lifted sideways and even higher than that usual spot on the bridge of a nose, starting above his eyebrows and cascading down every bump and crevice. Two doors away really did feel infinitely safer than while in the Impala, but something still wouldn’t let him finish the text. But Elen _ was _ going to hear all about this at some point. The Gas n Sip keys weighed even heavier in that same pocket in that moment, almost like they were taunting him. In Winchester-speak, Dean really did screw everything up when it came to tonight. A foot was already starting in the direction of the door. 

Fingers finally neared the stubble around his jaw and chin before falling right off Jimmy’s face. But everything shot back up in a fist and punching the large white column, not even caring about the blinding hot pain. Each knuckle spread wide from one another as a palm fully laid up against it, a little red blushing across the base of each finger. Ephraim’s look still seared into both of his pupils, but this wasn’t about that and neither was it about blaming Dean on anything specifically about tonight. 

“If I could help him with _ one _thing that heavily weighs on him whether it is his past, being the Righteous Man, anything. But all the help I have offered in the past is knowledge of heaven and the occasional case I went on with them has been more—” he gently slurred out his last word, attempting to come up with another with a simple shake of the head, but nothing was coming to him. 

“Tactile? Tangible?” 

“Tactile,” he repeated with a grin, feeling the weight of his words peel back to that lightness on his chest all over again. “But as far as I know he has put the experience behind him, but he will never talk about it and yet I am always ready to help him through anything.” 

“I’m sorry what he has internally put you through” at last cut through the continuing songs of birds in the trees around him, a party of three people taking the table behind Elen. The body almost shifted in discomfort, worried if someone or some prior angel would overhear him. After all, he was technically in hiding. “But I get it. It’s easy to,” an exhale fell out of her full lips before covering them up with another sip of her coffee, the ends of them lifting practically right to either side of her auburn red hair, “It’s easy to see the good in people and you can talk with them, reason with the less shattered parts of them, offer them all the patience in the world, but it all comes down to _ their _ personal relationships with _ themselves _.” 

“By choosing a human life, you’ve already given up” and this time, it whispered even softer. 

His thumb and index finger rose to the middle of burning closed eyelids, his chin dropping practically on the concrete underneath him. A few tears slid past the blackness in front of his pupils. It wasn’t really too surprising that Dean didn’t even acknowledge his crying while in the Impala, more erratic emotions being something a Winchester feels while desperate during a hunt or while dealing with their or loved ones’ mortalities. 

He really could have walked off right then. Maybe the five-minute walk towards the park and Elen’s neighborhood would calm him down although without a tub of ice cream. But there really was nowhere else to go and the door had a little creak somewhere in its hinge as it closed behind him. Fingers clicked the lock, resigning their own fate. 

Dean was already walking out of a gently steaming bathroom wearing nothing but a white towel around his waist, his skin looking pink enough for that hot shower. Muscles were naturally flexing in his thicker upper arms as they reached for his knapsack sitting at the end of the bed. One palm began to lift towards that familiar face and rubbing down it until stopping just before his lips. Dean’s own index finger and thumb moved around his mouth, cupping his almost stubbled chin in that nook between fingers. Eyelids were already open and a breath was gently groaning right out. Naked feet shuffled on the motel carpet and Dean was looking directly at him. 

“Where were you?” could not have sounded almost accusing although in a very simple Dean Winchester-kind of observation. 

The truth would only bring up even more questions he didn’t even want to begin to answer. 

He simply moved towards the chair in the corner without a single word knowing exactly how this was going to look. A deep satisfied groan fell right out curling up against the softer lumps, legs even naturally lifting in front of him. Knees practically met with his chest before falling off to the one side closest to the door. This was what the humans called the fetal position. Maybe it did look like the definition of defeated, but there was just no caring although in front of an undeserved someone who would just misinterpret all of this as something else anyway. A cheek met with the upper half of the chair’s back cushion and his eyes effortlessly closed at the soft impact. An inhale casually passed across the vocal cords, nothing as disgusting smelling than what was happening in the Impala. 

This could have been just as preferable as the air mattress but between the May Sarton book and his H.D. Thoreau note cards, his illegal home was beginning to feel something like a home. It felt like what the bunker could have been, what the Winchesters were beginning to really become. Whatever laid against him while in the Impala was even heavier right now even while laying sideways. 

“What?” almost-accused all over again. 

Footsteps went in different directions, multiple textures of fabrics folding then unfolding, a soft drop of something heavy onto thin motel carpet. 

A spot in the floor squeaked. 

“Jesus Christ, when did you become such a drama queen?” 

Eyelashes pushed down against the tops of his cheeks, that heavier something forcefully swaying downward even closer to this vessel. 

“We are all allowed even if it looks cowardly or selfish to other people.” 

The words flashed far more than the memory of brightly lit auburn-red hair or the white bowl of chocolate covered blueberries on that overly detailed outdoor table. Dean really was seeing this differently because it existed in Dean’sexperience learning how to communicate. His personal and forever unworthy relationship with himself. All of that rough affection and pop culture referential humor and all of the family honor underneath that in-the-moment crappy judgment. But that was Dean. No wonder it felt so alluring over time, that gaping wound but not-wound in the middle of his chest watching Dean’s dreams just to understand him. How could it be possible to understand someone and yet not all at the same time? 

“Go to sleep, Dean” breathed off of the cushion underneath the one side of his face, smelling the exhales of soda and pizza at every blow. 

The Winchester would rest easier than he would. It was easy to become so used to the Gas n Sip’s back room, attempting to will his body to just fall asleep without the unwinding entertainment beforehand. Somewhere underneath closed eyelids, something else softly tingled like some kind of electrical energy. Softer footsteps kept walking across thin carpet, zippers zooming back and forth. Maybe a deeper quiet could will the body to complete silence, but was that even possible with Dean Winchester in the room? It was hard enough to lay right here in this fetal position knowing it mistranslated in the hunter’s direction. If Dean didn’t come across so exhausted, he definitely would have poked and probed at what had to have looked like suspicious behavior. The consistent silence since the pizza place had to have been wearing him down and attempting to sleep in a motel room with an impatient Winchester was going to be really difficult. 

The pressure of one arm pinning the other down into the back cushion didn’t hurt too much, a faint buzz vibrating just over the tops of his wrists. The ends almost swayed right down underneath shirt cuffs, the movement feeling like a swinging cartoon pendulum slowly going up both arms. He felt a little sleepier now, but he still wasn’t entirely alert. A television was being turned on up against that same wall, nerves and muscles not even jumping at any of the sounds of changing channel after changing channel. That familiar thin sleep he was finally able to get rid of loomed right there above all of this strange buzzing. It went up into his shoulders, down the back, and made its way into all of the crevices of his legs. A pizza box was humming open, the scent of lukewarm pizza immediately flying up into both nostrils. 

“Cass” almost sounded like a whine as Dean kept smacking his mouth around a slice of pizza. A heavier thump followed a softer, “Cass, I _ know _ you’re not sleeping.” 

Those swaying ends felt even hotter just over the top of clothes. 

“Cass, come on. I got double beds for a reason.” 

Even if he wanted to move to the opposite bed, he almost didn’t really want to. There was something about this position and all of its vibration that felt so comfortable and safe all at the same time. He almost felt like that large slate-gray dog lounging outside of the Gas n Sip’s glass doors before its head and large ears shot right up. He actually left his post as its teenage female owner was happy to allow him to say hello to the very friendly dog. Eddie the pit bull promptly and happily slobbered all over his fingers, even jumping up onto both knees. It felt like the dog almost didn’t want “Steve” to leave his side and he finally understood. This was what it felt like for a pet-like animal to identify a human and it was an amazing feeling. Television channels flipped from one to another until finally landing on something unidentifiable. That thin sleep still lingered just overhead of this tingling like it was waiting. 

… “Ever since Scott and I got back from Miami, we probably see each other every couple days. I think it’s important that Scott sees Mason whenever he wants. Scott has definitely been making some great steps towards bettering himself. He’s been sober since Miami.” 

“Hi buddy.” 

“I’m also selling my condo right now and I’ve decided that it’s best that I live with Khloe for now, where Rob’s there, Khloe’s there, Lamar’s there. There’s plenty of extra hands to help me out with Mason.” … 

The monotonous-sounding voices and busying taps and clicks on the television were something close to unwinding with one of Elen’s books. Everything buzzed softer and softer until finally stilling, but there was no noticing when it officially stopped. His face gently twitched, the top of the chair cushion softly coarse. It felt just like Elen’s couch, feet away from the opposite back cushion where her face reclined with the smallest grin. 

“...Dean is obviously an abuse survivor who hides behind an aggressive masculine discomfort,” Elen’s eyelashes lightly flicked as she laid up against the light brown and white stitches. Even against the television light she was grinning just as bright as ever with the smallest of smiles. “I-I only hope I’m not being presumptuous. You are, _ were _, are friends with him and know him better than I ever will." 

"Somehow I can believe that. But there is a vulnerability that appears every so often that makes me—" and the one side of his face was being softly scratched as he shifted against the neck rest, "believe that there is a part of him he won't allow anyone to see. Sam might see small aspects of it and obviously I saw even less of it until it appeared in his eyes during moments of desperation." 

"You love him for being broken like that and as an angel you were drawn to the broken,” Elen almost whispered so gently. It was so painfully truthful, tears almost bubbling in each of their ducts. 

A forearm rose his fingers to one cheek just to make sure it wasn’t happening again, but something that wasn’t that vibrating struck hot and ran between his wrist and shoulder. At least the tops of cheeks weren’t wet. He clearly did something he shouldn’t have, but forgot what it was as palms met all over again. If anything made Dean believe he wasn’t sleep. Dean. 

Just beyond closed eyelids, a pizza-scented hissing was breathing even closer than it had been. 

The television continued in that monotonous tone. 

“Jesus, Cass, stop being such a little bitch and just sleep in a bed like a _ normal _person!” 

Dean would have deserved to be snapped at and yet not all at the same time. That desperate pain behind the Winchester’s eyes was still right there effortlessly haunting him, those choked words just as pained although he “just can’t stay here.” It would always be easier to see little things like that in hindsight without human shock practically attacking and paralyzing everything inside the vessel, his body. 

Breath almost fell across vocal cords close to sighing, attempting to go back to that deeper swaying place even as Dean Winchester was feet away from him laying on a bed eating yet another slice of pizza. He was beginning to lose hope, a little of that vibration tingling from somewhere in his lower back. 

… “Come in!” 

“Hey Kim, this is absolutely gorgeous!” 

“Thank you! Do you like it?” 

“This is amazing!” 

“So a lot has gone on in the past month or so since Miami. Reggie and I broke up and at first it was really tough living your life so public, seeing your relationship play out in all the tabloids. But now I’m over it. I’m single and I am absolutely loving life.” … 

Sleep eventually came just a little bit thicker than what was already laying over the top of him. 

* 

Sharp heat was twisting behind each eye socket in something like a headache, if a headache could happen back there and it really hurt. Fingers were ready to press against each lid at any moment, but there was no knowing if pressing against them would really help and he was starting to wake up. He was waking up from an even deeper sleep in a more upright position and lips wanted to hiss the strain right out, the body wanting to twitch in acknowledgment. He really was sleeping in a chair. 

He was sleeping in a _ motel _ chair in the _ corner _ and everything from earlier really did happen. 

It’s so strange how a person can forget things after sleeping for so long. 

How long had he been sleeping? 

A hum inhaled then exhaled past his vocal cords, the faint sound deep and scratching. The outtake smelled like mortal salt. Mortal salt that had to been his own and the dying scent of simple soap. 

It’s also strange how a person can identify shapes in front of them even when their eyes are closed. Either the side of his face or the air above it was tingling like there was someone or something standing steps away from him. 

Ephraim. 

Every inch of the body clenched hard. 

No, no. Ephraim was dead. That weight gave up its hold over his vessel, the body surrounding him right now and all that disappointment sank back in. 

But something heavy was still hovering right there, looming and breathing in his direction. Was he supposed to feel unsettled? Was it another rit zien? How many were really after him? An inhale trapped itself in both lungs. If anything had felt like post trauma, that tangible something not really breathing in the short distance between it and his chair. The _ motel _ chair in the corner. Had Dean ever felt like this although in a deep enough sleep to dream his life and all of those abstract nightmares which made no sense to the casual angelic viewer? 

Dean. 

He forgot. 

A person can really forget the whole early evening of a truly horrible night just with a few hours of sleep. Everything was coming back even sharper and perhaps even more vivid. 

Tear ducts were already burning with the idea. There were all of those accidental ones falling in the Impala, cool and smooth drops against the warmer forefront of skin where the face would be. It’s also strange how a person barely perceives their outer body in the seconds before officially waking up. Knuckles still burned, faintly bearing the weight of a motel column. Something was sliding down that face but not face all over again. 

Fuck. 

His body wasn’t even going to acknowledge this. 

Arms and hands wanted to physically acknowledge this. 

The leg underneath him pinched hard, but nowhere as painful as whatever it was in the back of both eyes. He still couldn’t entirely regret falling asleep like this, some distance between a pizza grease-scented bed and Dean feeling a little more appropriate. 

“Sometimes detaching has to be the only option.” 

Elen. 

The pain in both eye sockets almost deflated at the thought of her, a little of that panic even sinking away from that heavily weighted disappointment that was all of tonight. Falling asleep in the chair could not have looked more like actual attempt to detach however petulant-looking to another perspective! Elen would have approved, having had done something like that at some point in her life. He still could not understand how someone as young as the Goddess-_ re _named redhead could so easily verbalize something like that. Elen really did have the ability to sound like a fortune cookie. 

Lips almost ruffled, wishing he could write down the line just to remember it for the next time he would see her. But then Elen always knew how to find him at the weirdest times, not even planning for anything that past Saturday full of pumpkin macaroni and cheese and the movie “Clue”! He was still curious at her continuing story of a random phone number she received from a Garden Café employee. It didn’t seem right for someone as young-looking as her to be so surprised at something that shouldn’t be an oddity in anyone’s life. Even underneath disappointment and whatever it was steps away from this chair, it was still easy to be so interested about a woman who wasn’t born with the name she presented herself as. 

But the television was off. 

If silence felt uncomfortable, silence felt uncomfortable. 

And heavy. 

The medium-sized motel room was somehow even smaller behind eyelids as he laid perfectly still and yet feeling like it was going through a very narrow tunnel at the same time. Something at the end of that tunnel was faintly breathing. 

Dean. 

If everything was coming back even brighter after having slept that heavily, anger was even sharper and the lower half of his stomach was already burning. Dean Winchester really didn’t deserve him being there but there was no other option! It was all just too stupidly unfair. 

Unfair yet blameless all at the same time. 

Yes _ and _ no. 

Yet another human paradox. 

A sleepier yet husky exhale blew past the vocal cords in this awake but not awake place, like it was trying to wash all of this away. Sleep was right there and yet not as it knocked down from just above the shell of skin. Maybe he could have a few more hours like this then leaving for the Gas n Sip by himself in time to open. He should have scheduled an alarm on his phone, but even with the pinch in his leg, there was very little desire to slide out of this “yet not” half of exhaustion in order to make one. 

“Cass.” 

Dean didn’t yell or whisper, but plainly enough like he thought he was faking being asleep. 

An inhale went through just as gruff, Dean’s salted human skin and his earlier shower expanding down into both lungs. But even that reaction could have looked like nothing else but stubbornness that wasn’t even entirely about the Winchester! 

“For fuck’s sake.” 

That squeak under the thin motel carpet was flexing, a few crickets chirping just outside the window. 

“Cass!” thundered right out in a moderately higher pitch. He knew that tone so, so well. It was the one that struggled for control, mad but attempting to be as gently furious as Dean Winchester only knew how. 

Eyelids flicked open. 

Disappointment ran right back into that socket pain, but then humans _ do _ flinch when it comes to boisterous noises much like Dean Winchester’s commanding voice. The white wall in front of him was more of a dark gray in the darkness of whatever time it was, the corner of a deep brown window frame hovering just at the top cusp of an eye. Its color never looked more solid or substantial and it was suddenly even easier to remember his, this physical body. That suit shirt material underneath finger pads was soft, both hands laying on the opposite hip. He had to have looked like he was hugging himself. 

“Cass.” 

A pupil slightly moved towards its sideways circumference, but he still didn’t completely look back at the elder Winchester brother. It was really Dean standing just feet away from him. Light poured against his right side and creating a half silhouette around the thicker curves of a white tank top and plaid boxers of some kind of color combination. But there was no seeing his face from this angle. It wasn’t too hard to guess those thinner eyebrows were helplessly furrowing so deep the sides of his brow bones were slightly jutting out of his tall forehead. 

“Dude, talk to me!” 

“Would it solve anything?” 

Eyes closed all over again. 

An inhale ran sharp. That really had to come cracking right out, pitching like a mortal human’s would in the minutes after waking up. A throat swallowed that fracture, the gathering of spit and breath loud in both of his eardrums. It was only a matter of time until Dean Winchester would really confront him, but did Dean Winchester deserve all of the confrontation from _ his _ direction? Dean never does take hard truths about himself from other people too well no matter how close of a friend or family member. Pupils opened back onto that dark brown window frame full of its tactile fact and existence. 

“You saw what happened earlier, imagine how you would feel in the same situation. I don’t feel like talking or do I need to talk to you about it.” 

It tried for ambiguity but ended up just a little accusing. 

The air was finally swelling even closer to a dispute and he barely even felt ready for any of it. 

One foot finally dropped to the floor, the cramp in his right leg pinching all the way down to the thinner carpet. Palms planted themselves on that soft but rough cushion on either sides of hips and he was right. Dean Winchester’s eyebrows really were furrowing in the light and shadow on either side of his face. Temples swayed a second after moving upright, the heat practically a head rush all on its own. He really did know Dean too well. But pupils were glaring right up, the heavy density tugging at that headache behind both eyes. There was a little something within this that made him feel a little more like “Castiel” all over again. 

Dean’s bare forearms crossed over a white tank top looking a pale gray, a deep exhale pushing against the crisscross. 

“Look,” Dean’s hand lifted and chopping the air, “I get why you’re moping, man. I’d feel like crap if a rit zien busted a cap up my ass.” 

“It’s more than having a rit zien busting a cap up my ass, Dean!” and fingers didn’t even bother with emulating quotation marks, finally shooting right out and off from that safer boundary. The eyelids around dark blue-green irises were wincing in the weak halved lamp light, adjusting the weight underneath his feet. Of course, a hunter would perceive a sudden movement as something that had to be physically confronted. The heat of a palm was already lifting towards a cheekbone and hovering right there. “D-did you not think,” sideways fingers fanned down in that personal space, “that the last time I saw you would indicate _ any _ of my emotions right now?” 

“You’re fine now, aren’t you? You have the gas station, Nora, a solid babysitting job if you ever need the extra cash...” 

“Actually, no, Dean. I’m not fine!” weakly yelled right out. 

“OK” and his fingertips finally pressed against that temple, a heel drawing back like it was seeking refuge an inch closer to where that vibrating sleep had existed. The quick massage ran finger pads even further up onto the forehead and lifting just beyond a hair line. Somehow his scalp managed to be greasy already after having just washed it in the Gas n Sip’s bathroom sink hours ago. “I’m healing. I’m. Healing. Dean. I’m healing because _ I _ actually and explicitly needed _ you,” _ _ an _ index finger ached to point directly onto Dean’s chest, but when angry words and actions intersect around a Winchester... “and _ you _ threw me out! You think that wouldn’t affect me, Dean? I shouldn’t have been surprised. I finally get to a place where _ I _ need to be as Steve—” 

“YOU CALLED ME!” officially bellowed out in the dead silence. 

“Yes, but you didn’t need to do everything else. Solve the case by yourself, but to treat me like every other person who isn’t Sam that helps you out of their own free will to only leave them cleaning up _ your _ mess as you,” lighter temples swayed even harder as his head shook, one arm shooting out towards this door and possibly even trying to point towards the Impala, “blow out of town. That’s what _ you _ do best,” his finger thankfully pointed than directly tapping Dean’s chest, “It might not solve anything but in a way, _ you’re _ at fault for a little girl being in range of a homicidal rit zien ! If things went differently, he could have got to El—I—Y-you put it in my head that Nora wanted something else out of me because that’s the only way _ you _ can look at women! For all _ I _ know, you might have jeopardized my job...” 

“I didn’t think.” 

The great and self-loathing Dean Winchester actually admitted he “didn’t think,” the three words coming out even quieter as he looked down to the carpet. That didn’t even make him feel any close to better. 

Eyelids closed around depleting lungs, an exhale hollowing out of the back of the throat. Pupils weren't burning anymore but they did feel heavy just behind that thin darkness as they tilted down towards his still dressed feet. 

“No. No you, didn’t.” 

Both hands rubbed up both downcast temples, a short inhale running sharp against his vocal cords. Tears were so close to foaming out onto lower lashes. 

But agreeing with Dean wouldn’t make anything really feel better and neither would yelling, both situations eventually ending up in some kind of a shouting match. He should have known. Talking with Elen about all of this barely prepared him for whatever was happening right now, but behind closed eyelids that usual frustration felt a little different. It felt strangely more organized, a much deeper fire existing somewhere around the bones and sparking right up into nerves. Heat was finally melting away some of that sleep. But all of this just couldn’t be trifled with, not even knowing what kind of words would come out or what a hunter’s natural reaction would be to even an iota of what was being talked about. 

“Dean” came out in that soft command all over again. 

At least a little of that fire could be pointed towards being convinced to help the elder Winchester brother with the case. That couldn’t have been the most ideal thing for someone who was healing because of the same man! 

Dean was looking up from his own toes, the muscles around his pouting mouth clenching then unclenching. It still was a little strange to look into a face he hadn’t seen in almost over a month. But he could still read Dean so easily, how the twitches in his face struggled so hard for control, taller quirking eyebrows in the two different shades of the room looking faintly helpless or confused or maybe even both. 

“I have been thinking about you _ so _ much lately and where our friendship is now. You seriously didn’t think I would be mad or resentful after everything that happened in the Men of Letters bunker? That I would be selflessly happy just to see if you would take a case here in Idaho? I didn’t exactly plan to see you anyways! Dean, I’m—” 

“I’m working on it” sighed down towards his shoes this time. Teeth grinded against one another, Dean’s jaw delicately twitching. He could not have looked so oddly sad and yet _ he _ just couldn’t stay in the bunker. 

“And, of course,” an exhale huffed even thicker, sturdier-feeling temples dropping up towards the ceiling, “_ I _ can’t help because if you’re _ not _ a Winchester or demon or King of Hell, you’re pretty much defunct.” 

“You’re not defunct, Cass.” 

That came out even softer than whatever Dean was working on. 

“No. I’m healing” thankfully came out in that authoritative sound all over again. That fire even felt slightly quenched just by that tone in his voice, discovering that achingly familiar blue-green color as it rose off of the carpet. The dark centers between them really did look so hurt, Dean’s mouth pursing in that certain straight line. 

“And I’m not just healing from being stripped of my grace. I’m healing from what this friendship has turned into,” a different kind of heat was rising in pupils, his eyelids wincing around it. An inhale between opened lips actually staggered, some of that fire however microscopic pouring right out, “_ I’m _ _ healing _ from everything you have ever put in my head; _ I’m _ _ healing _ from everything I have ever felt around and because of _ you _ .” His finger finally shot out into the open air, eyelids expanding off of this newer and angrier temperature of eyeballs, “I’m done with this, Dean. If any other case comes up around here, I _ will _ call you and Sam. Of course, I have your number of all numbers memorized,” his head shook and temples were still much steadier despite all of that strangely organized fire. Pupils had nothing to roll towards but only in the vicinity of Dean’s face, not even wanting to look at him anymore, “but this is me making boundaries.” 

“Well, then, you didn’t have to come _ here _ with me.” 

“THE GAS N SIP AUTOMATIC SECURITY TURNS ON AFTER CLOSE, DEAN!” 

Blood really did rush. He yelled. He actually yelled, but even that didn’t make anything feel better. The human pheromones and speeding veins said something much different, but it would only feel good for _ this _ moment. That heaviness that loomed over him felt even lighter than it had been for weeks. Was yelling at Dean all that it would take to release this off of him? Even an inhale glided remarkably smoother than usual, gesturing hands falling to both sides after their downward parallel lines in “the” personal space “between” them. 

There really was no other option now but to go to Elen’s, but if she was sleeping... 

The digital clock’s red neon was blurry from a distance illuminated by the one source of light in the whole room. Jimmy’s pupils had to have been starting to really deteriorate lately and wincing wasn’t going to help make the time magically appear. Maybe Elen would help him pick out some reading frames, being someone who wore glasses and had to have known more about them than he did. But gliding temples felt like they were going through that smaller tunnel all over again, like this night was never going to end. 

He had never felt more homeless. 

The tips of his lower lashes were a little wet as eyelids closed for what felt like the millionth time during this never-ending night. There was officially no caring in letting Dean see him cry. An inhale swayed and a depleting exhale hollowed through the back of a swallowing throat, the two fluctuating directions echoing into those places between the ears. It could not have sounded more like a defeat. The toes of one foot started to rotate towards the bathroom, what humans call a charley horse stiffening up the back of a leg. Something shot to the top of his shoulder and the whole vessel, body stilled. 

The heart rate skyrocketed even higher. But there was no telling if it was another rit zien or another kind of angel, there was always the risk in being around a Winchester right now. That same foot started to slide back to where it was standing before and of course there was no one else here but Dean and himself except for a possibly popcorn-chewing Metatron watching his every move. 

“Cass” actually shook out even softer, Dean’s palm resting against his shoulder, “I’m sorry.” 

Heat was practically blowing off of Dean’s hand as it lifted to the back of the neck, softly rough wrist and fingers naturally curling around. Even that hand still felt the same or maybe he still felt the same from that hand. There still was nothing but that usual mix of comfort and confusion as to why humans need touch so much. But he could understand that a little now as paranoia and defeat and yet a little assertion took over that confusion. 

A little pinch from that charley horse almost made him gasp as the foot moved completely back towards the half-lit Winchester. Dean was still cupping his neck, both of those pupils inches above his so hurt before they fell back towards his shoes with a louder sigh. 

“I’m sorry, man, I—” 

“For now.” 

Dean’s warm palm and fingers dropped from his neck, a vibration taking over in their absence. The freedom from giving up restraining crying felt a little weird, but there was no stopping the wet sensation at the tops of both cheeks. Dean brushed that hand through his own hair, pausing just above an ear to momentarily scratch. Eyebrows hung so low to eyelashes; those familiar jutting brow bones ruffled right up the center of his forehead. The one better lit blue-green iris was still so bright although being swallowed up by its lid. 

These really were the same eyes he used to stare into hoping to find that soul he evacuated from hell. Something even colder slid further down from the top of his cheek. But now there was no telling what he was really seeing other than the environment surrounding them. He just couldn’t afford to look into those pupils anymore, he really did know Dean Winchester too well. That half-lit and shaded set of pupils in the middle of that blue-green was wincing a little more confused. 

“You’re sorry because it’s the only way to feel when someone is actually standing up to you_ right now _ ” multiple nods took over for that affirming index finger. Enthusiasm that usually came from that hopeful glint in Dean’s eyes was coming from underneath skin instead , feeling even more like “ Castiel ” under something close to that softly commanding tone. “ _ You’re _ sorry because in order to make _ me _ feel a little better, you’re retreating into your own self-hatred and unworthiness. _ You’re _ sorry,” air breathed past his finger pad as it jutted out into that space right towards Dean Winchester, hearing the last rough and low syllables tremble right out of the throat, “because carrying my mark over or under your skin _ must _ constitute an apology for some reason ! You’re as much of a profound bond victim as I am, but at least I have the fucking courage to finally say something. At least being human has given me _ that _!” 

“When did you become all Doctor Phil?” 

At least he understood that reference with all the daytime television playing at the Gas n Sip. 

Dean really would love to know. 

An exhale huffed down to those sneakers. Dean really would have loved to know. It was no asking him those initial questions, but in a weird way, everything really did feel like it was officially out there. That fire even died down just a little and it was happy to be left a little unresolved. That weight even felt a little less defeated and simply sleepy. Now there was nothing else but to go find some park bench to sleep on and he never really wanted to do that again. Humans and cops don’t really treat those kinds of residing homeless people too well though. 

“Cass, where in the hell is all of this really coming from?” 

“Seriously, Dean?!” index and middle fingers cradled the bridge of his nose. Eyes didn’t even close as they tilted towards the brown-looking beige carpet, finger pads firmly right there. That pinch firmly smoothed outwards in a slight massage, the touch almost quieting that burn in the back of his pupils completely. “Didn’t I _ just _ say that I’ve been thinking about you and all of this?” A shake of his head felt even lighter and Dean’s teeth were grinding the muscles along his square jawline. But this _ was _ a face he just didn’t want to look at anymore, the darker side of that firming straight line of his mouth tinting with a slight gray across human skin. Stubble even had a shadow all of their own and the older Winchester fully tightened up his mouth. The great Dean Winchester was finally trying so hard to not be offended. 

“_ I’ve _ just finally got to a place where I _ finally _ have the words to articulate everything I have _ ever _ felt for you, none of this” and that same index digit alternated sideways in the air of all of that personal space, pointing towards himself then Dean multiple times, “None of this will really change the people we naturally are, Dean. I think I know myself a little better as Steve now. _ I’m _ even able to make peace with the person that _ you _ are and for Steve, this just isn’t a healthy basis of a friendship. At _ your _ worst, you’re possessive and stubborn and I may be the same way, but it’s not how I want things to go going forward. I have accepted that you’re never going to be anything different.” 

“For fuck’s sake, Cass.” 

Dean really could not have looked anymore hurt as both differently shaded eyes were clearly choking back tears looking back down to the carpet, that darker stubble on his chin tracing a brighter-lit half circle to point those pupils back at his. That sheen somehow managed to disappear in the seconds it took to look back up, an aggressive anger burning its way out of Dean’s eyes that still couldn’t be looked into. 

It was hard to care watching yet another exhibition of the Winchester standards of emotion. That realization he really didn’t have to display his own like the brothers had still rang through him since sitting down at the Garden Café. Even now it was oddly liberating, but an even sleepier weight was pushing at both of his shoulders, all of his limbs going slightly numb. 

“Are you_ trying _ to piss me off enough to just leave town? Do you want _ me _ forget your living here? Jesus, Cass, we’ve been through so much—” 

“It’s not how I want things to go going forward” and the softly commanding words could not have felt more assertive or true, that nostalgia and whatever that aching feeling was while looking into Dean’s dreams nipping at a few nerves. He could have almost smiled just at those cathartic ten words, that looming weight of disappointment and failure even lighter. Lips resisted quirking. Right now, there was nothing else but a sleep-tasting exhaustion and an equally sleepy but wordless something else yet to be connected with language. “If we are meant to disband tonight, tomorrow morning, then it’s meant to be.” 

Dean was showing off that silent unworthiness, both hands cascading down his face. The skin or muscles against the back of his own neck quietly vibrated at the absence of Dean’s more dominant palm. A long sharp inhale breathed from somewhere just behind those fingers. Why did Dean fight against this so hard when _ he _ was the one who ordered him out of the bunker? 

Eyelids winced in that exhaustion, finding it hard to care although peering at it from a distance. 

“Dean” sounded a little sleepier than expected, a little cough breathing off of the back of the throat. The hunter’s name was repeated in the best of that firm and gentle tone, “I’m, I-I'm sick of fighting. There’s nothing more I want right now than to sleep somewhere warm and since I’m currently homeless, I’m not going to really get _ that _ on a park bench somewhere,” Dean’s hands were finally sliding off that square jawline, that firm straight line that was his mouth already opening, “and I will _ not _ accept charity. I took a charity sandwich once and _ you _ saw how that turned out for me.” 

“I’m not fighting you, _ you’re _ fighting me, Cass” that gruff voice was rising into an even higher octave like he was seconds away from practically bursting out of his own skin. 

“With good reason, Dean,” eyelids sagged all over again, so tired of standing and even his temples swayed looking back onto the older Winchester, “C-can I just please sleep for a few hours?” 

They completely closed, that mortal salt and simple soap breathing even closer in what was supposed to be personal space. A sigh breathed all of Dean right out, eyelashes practically pressing against the tops of his cheeks. This night or early morning was not ending any time soon, the weight of one heel shooting back towards that chair all over again. Woozy temples moved seconds after having moved. 

“I-I’m just trying to understand all of this, Cass.” 

His lungs expelled Dean’s scent all over again. This night or early morning really wasn’t ending any time soon, sleepier tears in the corners of both eyes. 

“You’re basically mad at me for being me and because I’m currently working on something at the bunker that I can’t let you in on? Dude, trust me, it’s a Winchester thing!” but there was a certain pitch cracking just underneath Dean’s dishonest but not trying to be dishonest tone. Didn’t Dean know that he knew him too well? It sounded like that inflection when the Winchesters didn’t want to lie but they had to and somehow, there was no being surprised at any of it! He didn’t care about being deceived about anything else. Dean really was never going to be anything different than who he was, that combination of a broken yet simultaneously resilient soul so oddly attractive to the casual angelic viewer. 

“I’d rather” and eyelids fought against opening, flicking right back onto Dean standing even closer in what was preferred personal space. Didn’t he once call him a Winchester? “you wouldn’t simplify something that has been on and off my mind for over five years, Dean.” 

“Jesus, Cass,” Dean shook his head back down to the brown-looking carpet in the shadow of whatever time it was. Eyes didn’t even close, the lips between that five o’clock shadow whispering an almost soundless “five years.” 

That brokenness really was almost alluring, the cause for his light shoulders almost shattering right over the top of both of them. Dean was sucking him back in although possibly not even knowing it and he could feel everything. A tired breath shuddered deep into both lungs and the weight of that heel finally stepped back towards the corner. If the air could feel like a thick blanket, the air felt like a thick blanket hanging just a little beyond the vessel, his body. Steve and Castiel both needed sleep and Dean wasn’t exactly helping the situation. Maybe the only thing to do was to make final statements and just manage to get out the door although without much of a plan. 

“Dean.” 

One better lit arm crossed with the more shaded one, both of Dean’s eyebrows quirking back up. 

“I’m finally unlearning all of the toxic and aggressive things you have ever taught me and although,” his own slid upwards, the plot of actually escaping fully sinking down onto sleepy shoulders, “I _ am _ maniacally terrified of being watched by Metatron or the risk of fellow angels, I actually _ do _ have moments of not minding being human. I find I enjoy different things than you do in not staying at the Men of Letters bunker and it’s fascinating to feel it inside of me. I _ like _ the sounds of nature over your Led Zeppelin, I _ like _ drinking coffee around the college students when I _ do _ go into Rexburg, I _ enjoy _ reading and the tingles underneath this ves —” temples shook although a second later after actually shaking, “ _ my body _ when I realize the physical gratification. But that’s more than what I wanted you to know and I’m just going to, as one of your idioms go, get out of your hair.” 

A huff breathed off of freshly crossed forearms across the half white and shaded ridges of his tank top, that clenched line of Dean’s lips sliding up the ends of his mouth looking far too amused with himself. 

“So, all my good work has gone to waste. Glad to know how you really think about me, Cass.” 

“What?!” eyelids winced even closer to one another, “No! What, fuck, Dean. Damn it.” 

His foot closest to the door was finally turning. It was really happening now. By the time this door closed, all of this was really going to be over. Even if the older Winchester stopped for gas in the morning, he wouldn’t care and going as far as pretending that tonight had never even happened. This really was the price of attempting to sleep in a motel room with an impatient Winchester! 

Legs finally moved the mere steps towards the motel door of room 3. 

“Dude, Cass” Dean laughed even louder from behind him, “Steve takes everything way too seriously! I was making a joke, man.” 

“At my expense when I’m trying, although against my better judgment, to let you in enough to explain what Steve has really been up to,” but words spoke directly towards the silver framed peephole instead, the doorknob sleek and cool against his fingers. Goosebumps prickled up a spine and exhaustion almost completely evaporated either at the temperature or finally releasing all of what was Dean Winchester, “But I suppose I have never expected to really be a Winchester or you being anything different than who you are.” 

“Oh, come on, Cass!” his eardrums vibrated like Dean had shouted, fingers reaching up to click the lock open as quietly as possible, “That’s unfair.” 

“I’m trying to tell you my side of everything and OF COURSE YOU. DON’T. HEAR. ANY. OF. IT. DEAN” bellowed right out from the base of that skeletal-level fire and curved fingers finally opened the door. 

A shiver of a tree hissed right through veins, a little smell of grass lifting into nostrils. She really was rubbing off on him as one foot started its way out, but the door was already slamming right in front of his face. He was being spun around by a shoulder, Dean’s hand not just a something like before and his spine hurled back hard against what was supposed to be his escape. Dean Winchester’s single palm pinned his right shoulder back and the other clicked the bolt. It rang loud up into both eardrums looking into those furious blue-green eyes. 

“I heard what you said, Cass, and it’s still pretty fucking unfair.” 

“There’s no way for human communication to _ not _ come across unfair, Dean!” 

“Christ, who _ are you _talking to on those advice radio shows?” 

He still wasn’t planning on saying a word, exhaling even softer across a brighter lit shoulder and even towards the more aphotic opposite wall past the beds. 

“Dean, just let me go. I’m exhausted.” 

“Why? You have a bed here, hell,” a freer hand shot towards that once comforting corner, “You can have the chair if you really want it!” 

“You’re actually attempting to possess my homelessness right now.” 

“I’m not trying to “possess your homelessness,” Cass! I’m just trying to help!” 

“IF YOU WANT TO HELP, DEAN, THEN I SUGGEST YOU JUST LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE! I know you love me in the only way you know how, Dean, but it’s not enough for this person I am becoming and I—” an inhale shuddered into both of his lungs, finally catching his breath. Spit swallowed in the back of the throat, the odd little sounds of muscles and liquid in ears, “_ I _ have loved your soul before I _ really _ knew you.” 

Everything went even quieter; those last few words reverberating in the air. Eardrums were still rattling from them as the fire in the base of Jimmy’s skeleton went cool. Hotter tears burned out of the corners of lesser exhausted eyes. This time, there really was no telling if any of _ that _ made an ungraced entity or even this vessel, body feel better. Pheromones and blood started racing a little more methodical, Dean’s furrowing eyebrows off to the side even blurrier from all of that wet heat turning back towards him. Those pupils really were trying so hard to not come across hurt and angry although practically pleading the same thing five minutes ago! Dean still pinned a shoulder back and firmly pushing it against the door, all of those intricate shadows painted across brow bones and all of the wrinkling above them. 

If silence could feel thick, silence felt thick. 

“Dean, I have given you a part of myself for SO LONG,” the tickle of his own brows was practically against the tips of wet upper eyelashes, his whole head swaying from the slightest movement, “in ways you have and never will understand. I would really love to have it back just to understand what this rebirth needs out of my old self. You humans have a quote about loving and releasing things, let _ me _ have this. I can only promise when or if I interact with you in the future, I will _ not _ excuse your behavior. Sam has dealt with it for so long and reasons with it just to stay on _ your _ good side.” 

The curve of Dean’s better-lit left pupil reflected some of that weak lamp and glaring pure fire in this shorter distance. But that unidentified something else when it came to his younger brother was choking and softening both of them all at the same time. 

“Cass, don’t you dare talk about Sammy right now!” 

“Because _ I’m _ not a Winchester, right?! I’m done with this,” elongated right out, dropping his head back on the door. The thud softly echoed around that softly buzzing silence. He rolled a single temple onto its side and the window’s wood frame was right there. The reminder of intricate arches and scratches almost cooled off that fire completely, but it would always be right there in-bone now that he had a skeleton to reside in. Eyelids rounded around the comforting pattern. 

“Just let me leave!” fell out sounding way too wounded. 

He hated himself all over again. 

“Cass—” 

That palm pinning his shoulder back wasn’t as warm than when around the back of the neck. It finally dropped, Dean’s hand returning to his side and an arm just shot right up still without much of a plan. An already sore fist actually punched the Winchester off of his guard and right in the face. This time there wasn’t even a single Leviathan in his body and there was even less caring. Dean really was never going to listen in the ways he needed him to and after all, this was a language that Dean Winchester did understand. It almost felt even better than just yelling at him. 

“FUCK!” 

Dean’s half-bare and moderately hairy legs staggered a few steps back, bending over onto himself at the foot of the better kempt bed. He was already holding the side of his face, but at least there was no blood trickling from behind it. 

“WHAT THE HELL, CASS?!” 

Dean’s hand finally left his cheek and there were the beginnings of reddish-purple knuckles imprints even in the weaker golden lamp light. 

“I’M DONE, DEAN!” 

Maybe this really was a language that Dean could only understand. 

That same hand touched the bruises all over again; fingers even more lethargic blindly going straight for the lock. Dean was still looking down towards the carpet and carefully poking at his face, breath hissing in between his teeth from the light touch. Fingers could do nothing else but grope further down for the latch, a very wounded-looking Dean in more ways than one already taking wide strides directly back towards him. 

“WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME, DEAN? WHAT DO Y—” 

Dean Winchester was kissing him. 

Both of Dean’s hands were actually on either side of his face and kissing him. 

A sharp hiss breathed from Dean’s kissing lips right against his closed mouth. 

A pounding was at the ceiling. 

Something was thudding from the wall closest to the beds. 

Those palms finally released cheeks and the kiss was over. 

“WE’RE GOOD NOW, REALLY! SORRY!” Dean shouted, eyes darting around the room at all angles like his words could somehow appease irritated motel guests. All of that dying motel soap and human salt was breathing even closer and right up into both equally stunned nostrils if nostrils could be stunned. “SORRY!” 

Dean Winchester just kissed him. 

The Righteous Man he pulled from hell _ just _ kissed him! 

He could not have stood any more still up against this motel door, but exhausted temples swayed like he had been violently thrashed. All of those four walls and ceiling finally went quiet and the immediate sound was near deafening. The Dean Winchester that just kissed him pointed even greener-looking eyes towards that supposedly safe corner, a tiny broken hiss of an exhale out of his mouth. A hand lifted to tend to his injury all over again, the silence coming back even thicker. 

How did a punch actually constitute Dean’s decision to kiss him? He was finally asserting himself in this rebirth and two warm palms practically tingled their heat into his cheeks and then Dean’s mouth pressed up against his. Lips barely tingled like the back of his neck or shoulder had, but cheekbones were fluttering like there were insects or butterflies underneath them. There really was nothing else to do but to turn towards the door all over again. Maybe silence could speak his last words, but both of his legs were completely frozen right here. There wasn’t much to look at over the better-lit white ribbed shoulder. Of course, the pizza box was still on the more mussed up beige and white blanketed bed closer to the other wall, a smaller closet just beyond Dean’s well-lit nest of sustenance and the television remote. 

Understanding Dean’s soul was one thing, all of the environmental factors that make up his person another and that really just happened! 

There was a little buzz coming from somewhere inside of that thick quiet. 

A soft sweat was exhaling either from shaded scruff or skin. Dean kept staring at the chair, the more available pupil looking a little less identifiable than usual. The eyelid started to narrow around its color looking so hurt and wounded and something else, a word a rebirthed Steve couldn’t quite grasp. 

“And what did _ that _ solve?” 

“I don’t know, but it’s something.” 

Eyelids closed over flooding tear ducts, a few already sliding down his face. The pupils were burning far more than either of their sockets had. Maybe it was better to not wonder why the older Winchester was compelled to kiss him. He dropped the back of the head back against the door, the echo gently thudding its way up into eardrums. In the middle of all of this dark, a sleepier exhaustion weighed even heavier against temples. An exhale finally gave up being cautious in not sighing. 

Dean Winchester was too late. 

Even if any of that was an option, the Righteous Man was too late. 

“Have you ever considered that untouchable need to be something else? You have used the words saved, absolve, relieving Dean of some human burden. Have you considered that there might be something baser that you need from him? Physical affection? A hug?” 

“...But I've also wondered once giving him that offering, would it even be enough? Would it be enough to absolve or save or relieve all of that hell in one man?" 

His chest hammered a million miles a minute in that darkness behind eyelids. The heart organ felt like it could have knocked itself right out of his chest and yet, there was no being surprised at Dean’s indifference. The things Dean Winchester does in the name of maintaining what little control he really has. The love from the older Winchester hunter usually does come across in some form of control or usefulness for a much greater and holier cause. But he really was not an angel anymore. 

That faint buzz was getting even louder, a few crickets still chirping outside the window. 

There were little dark colors forming against that darkness behind his eyelids. Purple, the deepest blue almost mixing with the solid black shadow. He wasn’t really of any use to the Winchester brothers now in their quest of translating the tablets and reversing what was done to all of his equally homeless brothers and sisters. She did say that his wanting to hide wouldn’t last, but there would always be a faint hopelessness _ because _ it happened and the feeling was blameless. It practically swam through veins along with failure and all of its familiar and even naturally fighting sensations. 

Remnants of pizza and toothpaste started to exhale right on him and a little too quickly, Dean breathing like this for what felt like minutes or even seconds. 

A kiss couldn’t just solve any of this away. 

Did Dean really think a kiss could just solve all of this away? 

A smooth inhale eventually grumbled through the back of Dean’s throat, both eardrums tingling at the deeper bass notes. 

Did Dean really think a kiss could get him out of all of this confrontation or even give him back some control? Dean Winchester, after all, does not take hard truths about himself from other people too well. 

“You love him for being broken.” 

Tear-slick eyelashes opened to that echo. 

Dean was still looking towards the chair all over again, the side of his lower-lit square jaw and the flecks and dimensions of shadowed scruff even blurrier from these ridiculous tears. A single darker but greener iris was restraining tears, eyelashes narrowing so tight like Dean could will them from falling right out. The remaining narrowed pupil looked like a word just beyond his grasp. These really were the same eyes that changed all of his hell-bound mission with just a single flash in his direction and now they could not have looked more wounded. He really did love Dean for being broken despite that worldly environment that damages human souls so easily, what he used to know as simply “sin.” 

Both of those pupils could not have looked anymore exhausted in their burning as they turned back onto his. Even the ends of longer eyelashes were already starting a wince that would eventually furrow both of their brows. Dean’s lips really did touch his, watching them firmly press against one another in that familiar straight line, opening then quickly snapped shut but then opening all over again. Natural spit clicked from the movement of his mouth loudly in all of that this deafening silence. But whatever Dean could have come up with right in this second would only come from his own crappy experiences and that unworthy personal relationship with himself. Shameless tears slicked the corners of his eyelids. He didn’t even want to be a part of this anymore. 

That buzz was taking over that heavy quiet. 

His exhale sounded gruff across vocal cords, a temple balancing on its side all over again. The window frame’s scratchy brown arches still looked just as solid from here, the wall underneath and beside it faintly gray. But none of it looked as safe as it had been. The white and beige chair even looked a little more golden on one side from the weak lamp light, the half circular shape also reflecting on the wall behind it. But there was no way to tell if his legs were still frozen or too exhausted to move. 

He really was being sucked back into all that was Dean Winchester from a single dumb and inconsequential kiss. That could have been the initial intention, but then the older Winchester was never not going to be like this. He could excuse all of that aggressive behavior and it wouldn’t do much good. He could accept all of it and Dean would not even look at him any differently in this strange rebirth. This really was a human paradox in of itself. How does a person love another’s broken soul and yet hold the changes they gladly make for themselves together at the same time? 

His mind was made up, it was supposed to be made up! 

The elder Winchester brother really screwed everything up and there was no knowing to what degree until the next time the Impala would find itself in Rexburg. The back of the head rolled its path back down against the door and lifting both of his hands towards the face. His finger pads were warm as they simply hovered at the apples of cheeks to wipe the last of these tears. 

“Don’t go.” 

His fingers fanned the human-made water towards each cheekbone before the sides of his wrists took over. 

Those words really did just shake right off of Dean’s usually so self-assertive chest. His thicker muscular arms looked just as uncertain as they crossed over that white tank top still half submerged in shadow and lamp, palms pressing just underneath arm pits. Greener rimmed and dry pupils tilted down but not towards naked or clothed feet. Eyelids naturally slid shut. Dean really was looking towards the door knob. Something naturally kicked at his stomach. If anything could make him feel like some kind of a hysterical flight risk. Nothing could feel so clear and yet not at the same time. 

“Cass, I-I can’t let you go.” 

That low scratchy voice still shook. 

“Can’t or won’t?” croaked right out, eyelids opening onto Dean fully staring down to his bare feet. 

The apexes of Dean’s pupils looked a little more relieved from that fire and there was nothing left but that addictive human vulnerability that used to scream directly into eardrums. Eyelids winced around his own muted fire. Now it all simply was. It was just the freckles of Dean’s face and shaded stubble lifting back up from the thin and darker brown motel carpet. It was just an Adam’s apple bobbing one methodic but hard swallow after hard swallow. He knew Dean Winchester too well to know that none of this was being done on purpose or vindictively, the hunter finally something close to cornered. 

“No, Dean.” 

A smoother inhale came out even smoother, the rest of the body not entirely cleansed or resolute. 

His mind was supposed to be made up! 

“Come on, Cass.” 

“No.” 

It came out so easily and so clearheaded, it felt almost strange and yet not all at the same time. 

A thumb and index finger pad pressed at the bridge of his nose. This time there wasn’t even tears sliding past either of their nails, but a deep sniff wafted like it was coming from a million miles away. He honestly just needed to sleep, the weight of exhaustion slamming down hard on both shoulders. 

“I—” exhaled right out, standing a little straighter against the door, “I-I can’t keep excusing your behavior the way I have been, Dean, and accepting or letting it go also doesn’t help _ you _ to grow as a person either.” The eyelids were already wincing, hoping this would be the last confrontation for tonight, “Even if I’m not completely in your life, I want _ that _ soul I fell in love with to keep growing for the better. But I _ do _ need space, Dean. There needs to be a greater separation than just walls despite my knowing that you’ll try so hard to fight against it.” 

“Huh” inhaled and flexing Dean’s stomach underneath another crisscross of his forearms, shaking his head back towards that corner, “just what I need, more people telling me what I need.” 

Dean’s usual lamentations of “Oh my God” and “Jesus Christ” could have almost shot right out of his throat, but there was no need to bring that Galilean rebel into any of this. 

“I’m not telling you what _ you _ need Dean, I’m just telling you _ my _ side of the situation,” the back of his head s tarted to s h ake towards a temple, wanting to do nothing else but balance on it and star e right into that window frame. But that lethargy swayed only a second after the initial movement, Dean Winchester readjusting the weight underneath his feet. Those pupils so expertly rolled in both of their shades from either side of the room and nothing could have looked more like him. “You make it so hard for people to love you. I know you have spent so long being _ so _ alone and I want to say you have me, but at the same time, I’m trying to understand what being Steve needs out of me. I’ve never realized how hard it is for humans to love others and yet not lose themselves in the process. I have lost myself to you so many times, but right now, I’m in a place where I need to be selfish.” 

“Can’t argue with you there.” 

Dean Winchester really did sound like he was something close to cornered. Sleepier eyelids closed around that softer mumble. 

“Dean” came out a little more sluggish than that gentle authoritative tone, “I will _ never _ stop remembering how attached I became to loving your soul like I had.” 

That darkness behind eyelids barely mutated with other colors, there being nothing else but that sensation of a hovering shape exhaling pizza grease and toothpaste and mortal salt even closer. Dean moved even closer into that personal space. Something hard but soft was falling against the tops of both shoulders, an even firmer substance leaning against his forehead. 

“Cass” and the one syllable pounded Dean’s breath on his vessel’s face, “you need to stop saying those three words, they make me want to do funny things.” 

Was kissing a funny thing? Lips weren’t even going attempt that one out loud. 

It was a newer level to understanding Dean Winchester, but the Dean capable of kissing just felt lightyears beyond him. A sigh fell out even sharper in front of his closed eyelids, the two streams of its exhale brushing just the tip of the nose. Can proclamations to a person’s soul make someone want to kiss another? He didn’t even know kissing _ was _ an option! Did he want the option of kissing? In all of these years, he never even tried to actively pursue something even close to the option! It would have been pretty apparent how Dean would have reacted! An eyelid was already shaking. 

“I’m exhausted, Dean.” 

A little of that lamp light started to trickle through the thinner skin, one pair of eyelashes cracking open and then the other. Both of them completely widened. Dean’s forehead was on his, that sigh and breath falling directly onto skin. That closeness felt almost as addicting as that vulnerability, something that wasn’t hands or lips wanting to just reach out for it. Perhaps his real body always wanted something of Dean’s soul and then Jimmy’s nerves just had to intervene as the both of them walked towards the tail end of that demon trap. That periphery just underneath his grace bounced in a combination of fear and even something close to attraction. 

Both of Dean’s eyes remained open looking down towards the last of that personal space, the apex of a downcast left pupil bright with a little of that lamp. Fingers almost wanted to reach out like that ethereal something towards the bruises on the darker side of Dean’s face in something close to an apology but not an apology. But the history was right there against the pads of each digit, those same eyes always getting so angry or agitated every time he would offer the tiniest of condolences from Jimmy’s awkward vessel. 

But Dean’s forehead gently grazing upwards, the tip of his nose brushing his own. Something hot immediately shot right down into nerves. That was not an undesirable touch. Pupils tried to look up towards those darker green irises still with Dean’s forehead against his, but they slightly crossed in the limitations of the human body. This was a much more intense reaction than just freshly human instinct while being with the reaper inside of April. That heat lingered, crackling somewhere even further down underneath the neurons making up all of these loudly reacting nerves. Was this what Jimmy wanted just from those multiple jumps he practically held onto like those cartoon cowboys on the television clutching onto horses? 

“Bed or chair, Cass?” 

“Dean” thankfully came out much firmer, Dean’s slightly crossed pupils pointing towards the bridge of his nose. Long eyelashes carefully flicked across the shadowed green surrounding them. Now there was nowhere else to really look, those shadowed dark centers still so sad and wounded. An inhale found his chest already shaking. “Just tell me one honest thing, one honest thing from the depths of that soul inside of that body. Why would you press your lips onto me just when I’m trying to move into a healthier direction? Why now?” 

“I dunno” and both sets of those clearly shaking longer eyelashes practically exhaled a breeze towards the apples of his cheeks. Those brow bones were beginning to punctuate themselves in Dean’s forehead, “I just,” mumbled right out in a quick breath, “I c-can't lose you, Cass." 

“Dean, I’m afraid you have lost me enough.” 

Eyelids sank over the top of pupils and in that barely morphing blackness, Dean’s warm palms felt even heavier against his shoulders. 

“I-I just wanted to know since you’re not an angel anymore, I-I don’t know.” 

“What did you want to know, Dean?” could not have sounded anymore exhausted and frustrated behind that darkness, but there was something about a proposition between bed and chair. 

“J-just, don’t go, Cass, I mean, for tonight anyways. Just stay here.” 

“What _ did _ you want to know now, Dean?” 

He almost hated himself for asking, goosebumps almost rising on the back of the neck just from that soft yet powerful tone. It really did feel something like a homesickness although without an exact home. 

That buzz retreated somewhere in the depths of that thick and dead silence. 

It lasted for minutes or perhaps even seconds. 

He wasn’t too surprised that Dean couldn’t or wouldn’t answer the question. 

But something itched angrily underneath limbs capable of punching and yet there just wasn’t any point in getting pissed off at a hunter who was taller and in much better shape than he was. Eyes opened yet again, Dean’s already shaking down to what little personal space was left. The intersection between foreheads shifted with barely a nudge of Dean’s nose against his. A little disappointment hollowed right through just from the lack of that weird touch. Even if Dean didn’t say that much, what was said was remarkably sincere! But so was “you just can’t stay here” even between those shaking words or the pupils that couldn’t entirely look back into his across that table. Dean Winchester really did shatter his trust. 

“That taking advantage of a human and incredibly vulnerable Steve would be easier than the angel you once knew?” 

“Christ, Cass, I would never take advantage of you” shook right out of the older Winchester hunter, his breath and each of those words softly pulsing in that space between his nostrils and the tops of lips. But that skeletal-deep anger was starting to gently simmer. 

“How can I remotely trust you anymore, Dean?” 

Dean stepped back so quickly like his forehead caught some of that bone-deep fire, those hot palms dropping from the tops of shoulders. That space between his own eyebrows tingled helplessly, the tip of the nose burning in its own kind of absence. 

“You couldn’t even look directly into my eyes to explain why I couldn’t stay at the Men of Letters bunker. _ You’ve _ been lying to me about Sam. _ You _ persuaded me into helping you tonight _ and _ I almost got killed however merciful! How can I remotely trust anything out of _ your _ mouth when you _ do _ try to say something sincere?! You have broken my trust, Dean!” A sob finally broke out, the bases of tear ducts completely raw and yet tears were falling right out onto both cheeks. All of Dean Winchester’s blurrier brow bones sticking out from his forehead from the deepest furrow yet, narrow and clearly pained pupils straining in the middle of eyelashes. 

That softly rough calloused hand gripped at the back of his neck, the intersection of moisture and parched lips pressing right up his. 

Eyes remained opened. 

It was just a little too weird even for a more open-minded Steve, but his mouth almost wanted to move against Dean’s. Dean’s rougher bottom lip tried even harder to wedge him open this time. 

A wet click softly squeaked out into all of that deep quiet. 

It was still too weird but somehow not entirely undesirable! 

A gruff groan fell off the back of Dean’s throat, that insisting bottom lip finally giving up opening this kiss. All exact and even ambiguous hot nerves jumped at every relenting movement, how the Winchester’s rigid stance cooled off the longer they stood like this, Dean’s closed eyelashes fluttering back down to the tops of his cheeks. It really was just too strange. Those progressively louder wet squeaks practically rattled both eardrums, whatever it was beyond hands or lips feeling strangely soothed. But there was something to that deeper growl. Dean’s rougher palm hinged at the back of his neck and yet lips were still completely immobile to all of this weirdness. Something incredibly hot and desperate was already climbing up every vein in both thighs. 

The left edge of Dean’s square jaw was better lit than the rest of his face from this angle, all of the shadowed curves of freckles and stubble and nose shape in various shades. But both of his eyes were still open. Did a person have to close their eyes during a kiss however one-sided or reciprocal? A little noise whispered off of the back of Dean’s throat and there was a microscopic tenderness somewhere in the sound. Something in both limbs helplessly softened, that hammering escalating in the depths of his heart organ. Dean’s curving lips yielded yet another moist release. He almost wished he could reciprocate, but this still felt a little weird. 

Two alternating streams of pizza dough and mint toothpaste blew even harder on that space between nostrils and the one cupped lip. A little of an even saltier sweat was entering that mixture of soap and skin. Why was he not stopping this? Did he really want to stop this? An easily deceptive Dean Winchester _ did _ say he wasn’t taking advantage of him. An inhale sounded almost wounded, the rough kiss with its wet lining and ambiguous although distrusting intent finally pulling off of his mouth. 

Another squeak breathed in all of that stillness, that warm palm exhaling its heat on the side of his neck. Dean really was over asserting in his usual hunter-like way, but was that an excuse or admission? 

He grabbed at that hand and the fingers faintly tickling the height of a jawline, discarding Dean’s arm back to his pajama-ed side. Both of his own palms were already reaching up and shoving the Winchester’s shoulders to a good distance. But that didn’t even feel near good enough, a fist meeting their respective imprints already on the hunter’s face. 

“Damn it, Cass!” 

Dean’s hand leaped for his injuries all over again, the one untouched burning pupil furious. Half-naked hairy legs stepped back into that personal space, yanking him off of the door by his open collar. Temples swam and there was blinding pain without the lead of a hand to his face. Hunters did prove to be quick like that. His own cheek stung and Dean’s firm mouth was on his all over again. 

He tried so hard to push Dean back just to attain some personal space, but legs were already and practically floating underneath him. Even temples were swimming from the movement not completely exhausted or frustrated. There was no knowing what this feeling was, but it was different and yet without spontaneous definition. Dean’s mouth didn’t even try to wedge him open. Balled fists slammed up against the ridged material of a white tank top. Somewhere between hitting the end of the closest twin mattress and a sob aching all over Dean’s lips, he was roughly kissing the Winchester right back. 

Cheek nerves seethed all over a slightly opening mouth. 

Dean hissed almost the same way from right between both teeth, his lower lip roughly pushing between both of his. Blood churned even hotter in thighs all over again. The warmer wet just inside of that mouth tasted much different than the late dinner or teeth cleaning products, a slicker kind of salt trickling down against a momentarily released top lip. Dean really did taste like everything and nothing, another squeak echoing up into his eardrums. Calloused wrist and fingers grabbed at the back of the neck, a less identifiable something thickly stabbing at a thigh. 

Dean’s hand kept clutching and grabbing right there. A yelp of pain wasn’t too far away between scratching fingernails and the hard grip of that hot palm. Lips almost gasped at the ache and that already rough kiss deepened, another set of coarse fingernails scratching up underneath the suit shirt Dean insisted to untuck for Nora earlier. Even after April, this still felt like lightyears beyond him. It was Dean! It was still Dean’s hand gripping and pushing at his naked waist, that stabbing even closer to those screaming thigh veins. A grunt exhaled right back into that mouth, breath trembling hot in Dean’s mouth. 

Something soft was finally underneath him, thrown down against the bed too fast for temples to even think of flying. Eyelids naturally closed, the darkness behind them colorless feeling the harder flex of a motel mattress against his spine. He couldn’t remember the last time he had laid on a less inflatable counterpart. Heat inhaled then exhaled a few methodic breaths, a warm fleshier weight pressing both outer thighs. One almost echoed the absence of that piercing something. Dean was kissing him again as the back of his head practically sank into the hard mattress. An indent next to one ear flexed everything underneath him and eyes opened back onto those lips against his. A sleepier scoff exhaled somewhere off the back of the throat. 

Dean was straddling his thighs, loose plaid boxers with all of their natural fabric gravity leaning off of legs. Another wet squeaked breathed into all of that silence. Heavy breath swayed across collarbones; a few more of those white buttons unbuttoned. It really wasn’t such a weird thing for two men to be together, but this was more than just two men being together if it was leading to that. This was Dean. This was Dean who so easily breaks a person’s trust. This was 5, maybe even 4 years of something like a friendship with someone who could barely string together a full honest sentence about that very friendship! A little of that bluish gray returned to those overhead green irises, the black centers between that color looking at nothing else but his own. 

Dean’s pupils still had a little pain in them despite his clear communication issues. Whether the Winchester liked it or not, it needed clarifying. He really did care about the Winchester even against his own better judgment, Dean clearly scared enough to let go and there had to have been some love within that. That firm jaw was finally relaxing, the flat of a tongue wettened the center of a slightly parted upper lip. This was the look where Dean Winchester’s brow bones were about to jut upwards, the eyebrows sinking down to each of their lashes. Eyelids slid shut to all of it, tears foaming at the bottom of all of this darkness. It still didn’t feel entirely right but still not completely undesirable, whatever this was considering Dean’s complete lack of consideration just as paradoxical between excuse and acceptance. 

An inhale passed across a low hum at Dean’s vocal cords and expelling pizza grease and toothpaste back at out on his face, breath like another kind of cartoon pendulum. Everything did start to feel even calmer as bare skin from between liberated buttons started to move in that rhythm. But something soft and firm was starting to fleck at the jawline and slowly inching upwards. 

“Shit, Cass.” 

The touch glided down one cheek even more softly. 

There was no telling where this sudden tenderness was coming from, but if anything was evidence that Dean Winchester does have some regard for others. Eyelashes only brushed at where those fingertips had been. There was also no imagining what Dean’s face would look like in this moment, but eyes fluttered open right onto him. Eyebrows and the bases of their bones had a much softer furrow to them, a little pout pushing out his full lips. The pupils between only slightly narrowing long lashes looked a little softer and yet angry all at the same time. He could have almost kissed the Winchester just then if he really wanted to! The idea wasn’t as strange as the actual kissing, but would any of this really change anything for the better? 

He had officially fallen back into all that was Dean Winchester and all of this would only change _ himself _ for the worst. A deep breath grumbled across the back of his throat, the cool skin of a chest inhaling hard enough to meet with the under stitches of liberated buttons. That change could only be for the worst in the wider scope of an angel-infested earth. 

Tear ducts started to war with the exhausted idea of tears. 

An inhale was beginning to shake and expelling just as frustrated. But Dean still could not have looked anymore lost inside of himself, that softness appearing in those constricted pupils. Everything started to speed up all over again. He could have punched him if he really wanted to as well! Dean Winchester’s eyes were starting to look angry all over again. A hand started to reach up for a pressure point the hunter once pointed out to him, but Dean was already gripping at his wrist. 

A soft thump echoed deep just over the crown of hair and right down into the mattress. 

Dean’s lips fell down onto his and even harder, a deep inhale hissing across the grumble of his voice. Could a human want something so badly and yet not all at the same time? Hips even tried wiggling out from underneath Dean’s legs, but a mysterious groan breathed right out against his face. The back of the head fell back in defeat against the harder motel mattress, a few longer hair strands tickling the side of his pinned fist. Talking didn’t help and neither did the physical gratification of a fight. Dean’s pupils overhead slowly gained back some of that glaring fire, but they only looked even more blurrier. 

A few tears slid down cheekbones, pooling into hot ears. 

Something started clanging strangely metallic. 

Dean was sliding the leather strap out of his own belt loop. Heat rushed the hottest it had yet through every artery and nerve just at the association of the image to the sound. The belt buckle felt just as absent as Dean’s hand on the back of the neck or shoulders. A zoom softly breathed through the air, the hand not pinning his wrist down unzipping the fly of his jeans and those bluish-green eyes were looking right into his. That fire was still lodged in them, not even knowing how to read them or what it was they were trying to say. But there was even more weightlessness around hips and an inhale was shaking right out. Something faintly familiar could not have felt more achingly heavy. 

Those shaking pupils kept bearing right into his. 

A sober Dean Winchester, someone who once called him a brother, was actually doing this! 

Eyelids could not have winced anymore frustrated right up towards Dean. He really was falling right back into those centers, hearing an invisible fabric thump and hiss from an unknown location. An electrical lukewarm air tingled right down to the tips of his toes and almost every nerve shouted the loudest they had yet. 

Jimmy’s white underwear had been shucked down underneath testicles and Dean had his vessel’s penis out. Pupils tilted even further down towards the little hills of white buttons finding the body part thick and ample and remarkably red with human arousal. This time, he didn’t feel the arousal as much as he had with with April or Daphne, but this still could not have felt more like a better or worse idea all at the same time. 

Dean Winchester was holding Jimmy’s penis. 

Dean Winchester was holding Jimmy’s penis and it felt wonderful yet terrifying. 

Of course, he could feel two different things in a single second because of Dean! Hot defeated tears prickled at the corners of both eyes looking beyond a better lit clothed shoulder. But the grayish-white and yellow ceiling was getting even blurrier the more he looked up towards it, a roughly soft touch hugging at every ridge and curve down the male genitalia. He gasped right out, the heat and electricity jolting nanoseconds afterwards. 

His temples tilted even further back and burrowing the back of the head down into the flimsy motel comforter. A few more hairs tickled the side of his captured wrist. 

“Hrmm” inhaled hard to the back of the throat. 

It would have been terrifying to look at Dean Winchester at this second, a Dean Winchester holding his penis like he actually wanted to grip and fondle him. There was never any knowing if he ever wanted to do it before tonight, but how does a person ever really know another person’s intentions when they don’t communicate as well? That blurrier ceiling had bumps on it like how human skin had something they call goosebumps, one inverted deep charcoal shaded arch inverting alongside the reflecting yellow lamp hugging its shape. Both eyes burned in a less headache-like heat. 

“D-Dean.” 

He still couldn’t look at him. 

An even softer and chapped touch almost tickled back up the folds and creases, a few goosebumps collecting at the back of one of his ribs. Dean’s warm palm took it all back into his hand. Dean Winchester really was holding his penis right now and it was terrifying yet still not entirely undesirable! The heartbeat was practically thrashing in the heat of Dean’s knuckles. An inhale shook even harder and exhales helplessly panted. Eyes clamped shut so hard, tears foamed at lower lashes. 

Dean’s warm palm switched back to the softer touch of finger pads just beyond a large purple dot in all of this darkness. The touch was beginning to feel even more normal, but Dean Winchester was still holding this vessel’s penis. Dean Winchester was _ caressing _ this vessel’s penis! A rougher glide up to the absolute softer top of the human penis melted away all thoughts of being with April or Daphne. His forehead could have almost buried itself into the lower hem of a pillow case, the ends of longer hair strands brushing against his pinned fist. Dean had stopped moving across him and he could have sworn the heartbeat in this chest fluttered multiple times in a single second. A single finger slid up the underside of some specific anatomic part of the phallus and an inhale hitched painfully deep in his chest. 

“D-Dean.” 

The lower back arched up just to shift the addicting touch, grunting softly at what little friction there was in Dean’s warm hand. 

That touch had finally released him and Dean must have finally come to his senses. Eyes almost wanted to open as a painfully rigid weight fell up towards that still tingling absence of a belt buckle and the fly of his jeans. Another gasp fell out just at the more synthetic texture, Dean’s other hand was still holding his down. “Puh” breathed out from above him. There was no telling when he had wanted this weird touch so much, but something was burning warm deep inside of the testicles and Dean’s straddling hot thighs were shifting further down towards his own knees and a loud groan just fell right out. 

Two streams of breath were even closer to that spot between nostrils and lips. Even behind closed eyelids, his mouth practically ached to brush upwards against Dean’s knowing they were right there. The Winchester kept breathing even heavier in that pendulum, little grunts and moans in the back of his throat made even louder with the absence of sight. A dark blue color passed in the collage of black and purple, an arching lower back helplessly shivering. Everything was much wetter with Dean’s moist hand gripping one side and firm quivering creases with a humid heat at the top gliding up against his own. 

“Agh!” 

A shaking exhale practically grumbled, temples tilting further back towards the motel mattress, the click of that familiar wet heat of Dean’s open mouth just over the lips. That space just over his mouth gently huffed obscenely warm. 

“Fuck.” 

Something hard leaned against the exact middle of his forehead, heaving breath landing fully against the mouth. Eyes naturally opened and the shadow of Dean’s closed eyes and face were scrunched up looking like he was in pain. His heart could not have broken into a million little pieces just at the touch of foreheads, Dean being so close to him all over again. Fingertips never wanted to trace those cheekbones or touch the deeper shade of that little crease on Dean’s chin or clutch at the skin of his back underneath that tank top more than at this moment. 

“Fuck, Dean!” 

He even wanted to look down at what was being down to him, but Dean was exhaling a low deep gasp like he was achieving his own pleasure. 

“Please kiss me” could not have wanted to come out of lips any more demanding than right now. 

“Fuck” growled right out instead and practically grunting up into Dean’s mouth. 

The hand and phallus at either end of his own was speeding up a little drier than it had been. Little gusts of breath started to puff directly up into Dean’s heavily breathing mouth. Toothpaste and the late-night meal smelled even hotter from between those lips, his own wanting so badly to command that kiss. A gasp groaned out instead, Dean’s palm rising to his mouth and the penis was absolutely tingling with an even bulkier omission. Lip muscles shifted around their muscles before spit drizzled into Dean’s hand before returning back to Jimmy’s penis. He could not have groaned any lower or more drawn out. 

“Fuck, Dean!” came out in a rough whisper up to those lips above his. 

Dean Winchester’s eyelids weren’t closed, but their lashes were hovered just above his cheeks. Pupils were clearly looking down towards his task, his own still tempted but terrified to just see what Dean or even himself looked like. The breath above him just kept shaking, humming inwards and groaning outwards. He couldn’t really look at the task of plunging into April or Daphne’s vaginas either, but with Dean everything felt so familiar and yet different all at the same time. Another grunt shook right up towards those lips, moisture from both Dean’s hand and penis gliding so perfectly up against him. 

“D-Dean” and hopefully the whisper would be enough to beg for a kiss. 

The Winchester’s grip slowed to only speed up all over again, something even deeper than testicles softly and slowly started to growl a texture. 

“Fuck.” 

An exhale puffed right up into Dean’s hot mouth and eyes screwed shut. There was no other choice but to give up on the idea of Dean kissing him. 

Little tears pricked the tops of tear ducts and running unearthly delicate down the front of an invisible face. Loud groaning breath pounded even further down against his mouth, Dean practically sucking his air out from the chest where a heart was still hammering away. A rougher yet gentle texture ran up across his top lip in a kiss but not-kiss. 

“D-D-Dean.” 

Sharp heat electrocuted every vein, something rumbling deep down in the floors of both testicles. 

Shaking breath was puffing even harder and louder down into his mouth, lip muscles gently brushing across his. He could have cried at how tender the touch. A little hope still wanted the full wet heat of a kiss and something not entirely of a watery splash was surging from Dean’s penis. His forehead dropped upwards the furthest yet, temples to that muted but multicolored ceiling, hair practically nuzzling against the side of his fist under Dean’s shaking arm. 

“Sh-shit, C-Cass. GOD DAMNIT!” 

All of that discharge was only more lubrication, dragging up Jimmy’s penis with a fingertip at the very top and tracing a helplessly wet crease right there. An even deeper groan wordlessly drew itself out very loudly. Testicles practically burned their own electricity, never feeling them shake like this with either of the women he had already been with. The ridged texture of Dean’s tank top against the more naked portion of his chest was shaking, fingertips aching to touch anywhere on Dean’s body. But like asking for a kiss, he just couldn’t. 

There was the imagining what that firm frame felt like under fingertips than just the body weight over the top of him. Dean Winchester’s hot skin, the heat surrounding the anti-possession tattoo on his chest, around his shaking wrist that clutched at the phallus, his overheated lower back possibly being liberated from that tank top. 

“Fuck, Jesus Christ, Cass” sounded even weaker from a distance. 

If a heartbeat could be in a person’s ears, his heartbeat was in both ears. 

He was groaning and moaning even louder, the deluge of perfect electricity aching up both testicles and shooting little sparks up and even further up. A pounding heart in both the eardrums and shaking penis and chest screamed upwards and upwards. 

“Dean.” 

“Dean.” 

“Dean.” 

Every whisper barely stuttered, a gushing hot and flowing across from the top of his penis and trickling down the sides. Shameless tears were falling out just as blisteringly humid. 

Liberated fingertips thoughtlessly carded through soft hair that wasn’t his own, a shivering lower back pushing his stomach right up into those still softly shaking tank top ridges. And widened lips were pressing hard against Dean’s. 

He definitely blacked out somewhere between that whispering litany of Dean’s name. 

Rolling onto his side was a bad idea, the brush of the vessel’s penis against Dean’s shooting a painful arousal up the back of his ribs. The fist finally shook out from underneath a shaking grip. A few teeth of his zipper scratched at the oversensitive and flaccid skin before pulling himself back into the underwear men jokingly call tighty whities. A trembling Dean Winchester remained over the top of him even as he zipped his fly up. 

He actually had sex with Dean Winchester. 

Dean’s lips and penis were actually up against his! 

There was literally nothing to feel. Tears didn’t even want to fall towards some magical bed rock-shaking realization that he had ever wanted Dean like this. Eyelids slid shut, the tremors of Dean Winchester in the air just over the top of his body. Somehow, he did not even feel remotely violated or used or even raped. For all of the staring into those pupils and the lack of personal space, maybe he always wanted something more like a spiritual counterpart to what had just happened. There was no knowing what that could have been. Every inch of the vessel was still shaking, the invisible groin area never feeling more lighter than at this moment. Even Elen’s idea of some kind of some platonic affection might have simply been it, but even the weight of a hot palm on a shoulder or the back of his neck couldn’t entirely sate those deeper places. Of course, the physical gratification of a fight or sex just couldn’t get Dean to open up. It all would simply end the same. Hot tears came streaming right out onto the cheap motel comforter just underneath him, knowing Dean was going to watch him cry himself to sleep. 

*

He could barely tell if it was emotional exhaustion or just sleepiness as the Gas n Sip came into view beyond the Impala’s windshield. Dean Winchester’s “Baby” slid right up towards the parking spots. There were the memories from last night and they proved just as exhausting as that sleep that still weighed down on every body part. Thankfully he was already all cried out, hands wiping down dry and cracked skin all over his face. But the nerves in both the hands and cheeks only lightly responded, fists falling back onto thighs. He fell back against the comforting curves of the Impala’s passenger seat almost feeling Sam’s taller imprint against it. He almost missed this sensation. 

There was no point in thinking about whatever happened after the television turning off last night. Ephraim was still right there in the forefront of it all, the bitterness in his vessel’s eyes without a hint of rit zien’s right to benevolence. The fact that Ephraim once admired him hurt far more than anything Dean could ever conjure on more human-ridden nerves. Even all his brothers and sisters that might have equally felt something for him must have changed their feelings about him by now. They had to somehow matter alongside making peace with himself. The back of his head slumped back onto the neck rest, eyes closing. Nothing could have felt anymore between clarity and yet hating every part of this situation, unable to run away from it but even that could look like “burying his head in the sand.” All of that coming a brother who didn't actually immediately condemn him for changing his mind about the slow changes in heaven! 

"Listen, Cas—" he jumped back up straight at Dean’s voice. Every single grunt and moan and those squeaking little sounds of releasing kisses were still right there even against his better judgment. Everything was ringing even hotter just underneath skin and between eardrums. He absolutely hated himself. "Back at the bunker, I uh … sorry I told you to go." 

A hunter would find it easier to talk during the day, at least what little he could impart outwards. But it would be nothing but “uh”’s and pauses meant to be interpreted as awkward or half of an unbridled shouting match saying absolutely everything but nothing. Dean Winchester was never not going to be any different than who he was. Perhaps a more soulfully verbose nature or connection was all that was needed last night, to actually hear whatever was circulating in Dean’s distraught and abused mind without a single environmental filter. Nothing could have felt more like a simultaneous mistake and yet not-mistake. A sigh had no choice but to breathe out as just an exhale. 

"I know it's been hard on you, you know, on your own. Well, you're adapting. I'm proud of you." 

There were a million things he could have said right back to that, both angry and compassionate. He wanted to cry. He wanted to yell like he did last night. But his head was still on the comforting neck rest. 

“Thank you, Dean” came out instead. The vocal cords weren’t shaking outwards like they were in his throat, temples starting to swim at anger but not-anger. In a strange way, he did kind of mean it. This was Dean saying something close to a compassionate affirmation. “But there's something Ephraim said. The angels – they need help," he couldn't really deny that part, pupils darting towards the façade of the still closed Gas n Sip. He almost looked forward to cleaning the slushie machine, yelling at the unruly teenager boys once school got out. But the weight and heat of Dean’s hovering lips were still right there. There was also the light brush at his cheekbone as crying coaxed him to sleep. There was waking up with the older Winchester brother sleeping with the pizza box. For better or worse, there would at least be a mockingly ominous text in Elen’s direction asking for her favorite ice cream flavor. There was no imagining all the wry text messages coming back in his direction! 

"C-can I really sit this out? Shouldn't be I searching for a way to get them home?" He looked ahead to the lines of the yellow diagonal parking spaces just in front of the gas station. They blurred and sharpened multiple times, still unable to look at Dean. He hadn’t been able to look at the Winchester brother since rolling onto his side and tucking himself back into his pants. Everything after the television turning off became even more acute the longer he thought about it, the nerves ringing hot and destroyed. 

“The thought of your angelic siblings confused or depressed or terrified […] will cut deeper into eventually" thankfully cut through all of that thick reality. It really wasn’t going to last, possibly being the thing to distract him from all of Dean. Maybe the older Winchester than Ephraim was really the catalyst to all of this. 

"Me and Sam will take care of the angels." 

The crown of his head shot off the neck rest and darting over to Dean enough to look only into his face. Both of those pupils between their current simple green color were officially off limits. But this was the first time he had looked at him since last night and furious tears wanted to foam right out. Maybe it was petulant that he didn’t say anything about Elen’s sage words. But despite wanting to be selfish, this was his problem and not the Winchesters'. This. Was. His. Problem! 

"You're human now, it's not your problem anymore." 

An arm shot right out for the handle of the passenger door. Exhausted anger hovered right there, fingertips loitering on the outside crank. He was never going to feel this level of comfort the Impala or Dean’s supposedly aphoristic words could offer ever again. But then human communication usually never comes across fair, possibly missing something in the translation. But then that’s also in the crosshairs between excusing or accepting Dean Winchester’s complete inability to communicate. The Impala’s passenger door opened from his own grip. No. This _ was _ his problem. Why would Dean even say something like that after everything last night?! 

Eyes looked back to everywhere on Dean but his eyes. The older Winchester had thrown on his army green jacket still possibly smelling like pizza grease, his hair not even slightly out of place with the product he dumped in while in the bathroom just a few minutes ago. A, his, hand rose to something like a wave towards the rolled-up Impala window and Dean gestured the same way. He never wanted to see Dean Winchester ever again. The 1967 Chevrolet Impala screeched out of the Gas n Sip parking lot. Eyes just closed trying to accept all of this. 

Blind fingers went for the cell phone in his pocket, flipping it open along with his eyelids. 

“You're not going to believe the night...” 

The tiny text message screen was right there, that usual slow smile usually had with Elen stretching towards both cheeks. 

“You’re not going to believe who I...” 

Delete button, delete button... 

“Guess who I was with all night?” and he finally pushed send. 

An exhale breathed out forgetting he was still standing in front of the Gas n Sip. Both of these newly familiar things of Elen and a job really were like a strange and joyous cold shower. Each fact sprayed deep into every rattled muscle and nerve, but barely touching that certain fire down in Jimmy’s skeleton. It really was still amazing how much Elen had meant to him after only two weeks. Keys jingled loudly as they finally came out of his back pocket and unlocking the gas station’s front door, the little bell tingling at the top never sounding more welcoming than _ this _ morning. 

But there were still the angels, the thick rejuvenating scent of coffee slowly permeating the gas station. Fingers started to rustle through his pocket full of change, knowing he needed to have enough before any customers started to come in and to keep him standing until 10:00 that night. The change in the cash drawer rattled on its way down into the register, the television being turned onto the channel it was on last night. 

"It's been weeks since the massive meteor storm, yet Idaho Falls astronomers still have unanswered questions. NASA and Washington are both continuing to study the phenomenon." 

His phone vibrated in his pocket. 

“You *do* know ex-angels can get charged for homicide like humans, right?” 

He could hear it so exquisitely in Elen’s dead-pan tone, strangely knowing to take it as humor. A laugh went through low through the chest and nothing could have felt more strangely reparative. Temples even fell back still laughing, only catching the television just above his eyeline. 

Weeks-old footage of God's angels falling from the sky cascaded across the television screen in the corner and the eyes, his eyes, almost wanted to roll at the continuing coverage. Would it ever be over? No. For as long as true unvesseled humans sought after questions and what they perceived as truth, even if it stayed out of the media, God's creation would persist in attempting to understand what was beyond them. It was the best and worst of humanity and yet now he was a part of it. Today he had to indulge in something different, something both Elen and himself would appreciate as a step closer to taking care of his brothers and sisters. 

He switched off the television. 


End file.
